Desert Son
by Phindin
Summary: As the new king of Jehanna, Joshua is confronted with near immediate threats to his kingdom. To quell the disturbance, he must take up arms once again, battling alongside old friends and allies from the War of the Stones.
1. Boredom

_Jehanna Hall, 5 Months After the War of the Stones_

Flickering torchlight illuminated a sizable room, casting sets of shadows that danced across high walls and a tall, vaulted ceiling. Surrounding a crescent-shaped desk situated before a large rectangular window was a lengthy line of shelves, which hugged the walls and snaked around the entire room. Most of the shelves were filled with cases of scrolls, each painstakingly labeled and sorted by year, subject, and author. The rest of the space was filled with thick, leather-bound tomes, which were also labeled similarly.

Beyond the window—which now bore the reflected image of a darkly clad, red-haired man bent over several wordy pieces of parchment—was a vast expanse of desert, now cloaked in darkness. Apart from the scribble of the quill and the occasional crack of a torch, the room was completely silent—that was, until King Joshua hissed an incomprehensible curse, straightened up in his chair, and threw his quill aside.

The new ruler of Jehanna turned and gazed out the window, attempting to recall enjoyable times that involved more stabbing and betting than writing and speech giving. Despite the dire circumstances, he had quite enjoyed his life during the War of the Stones; along with the endless opportunity to swing his sword and win some gold, the company had been—mostly—fantastic. Recalling this, the King of Jehanna's features went from pleasantly nostalgic to darkly grim; he had won some obligations from his former partners, but here he still was, nose-to-parchment, devoid of any real company.

Regardless, anyone who got to know Joshua soon found out that he was deceptively clever and thoughtful—well, perhaps more clever than thoughtful. But in this case, he had shown amazing foresight; he knew, upon returning to Jehanna Hall as its new ruler, he would be bored silly surrounded by lifeless nobles and bookwork. So, during his travels among the company, he had attempted to recruit some likely future comrades to join him in his new life. There were two he had been the most successful with—Gerik, the near-legendary mercenary commander, and Marisa, the devastatingly antisocial (though remarkably attractive) sword fighter. The cleric of Grado, Natasha, he perhaps could have worked a little harder… had it been the right choice to let her go? He knew Grado needed her, but….

He shook his head. This was no time to start second-guessing his choice to avoid deepening his relationship with Natasha. The bigger blunder was allowing Gerik and Marisa run off. To be fair, at the present time, Gerik owed him nothing more than a duel; with Marisa, however, he had already won his wager. After the war, she was to have joined him at the palace. Unfortunately, Gerik had sweet-talked him into letting her join him and his company to complete a very high-paying job playing guard for a wealthy merchant in Carcino. The job was to take less than three weeks, but they had departed nearly two months ago.

Joshua sighed.

This was not the first time the newly appointed King of Jehanna had regretted returning to the place of his birth after the War of the Stones, and he knew with a sickening certainty that it wouldn't be the last. Joshua had no love for duties of the King that came in the form of paperwork, and he doubted that, until his limbs ceased working altogether, he ever would. But Joshua knew he could never leave again; he owed his mother that. Regardless, compared to sword fighting and gambling—his two favorite pastimes—slaving over minute issues within his Kingdom appearing in the form of tiny letters was complete and utter torture. Fortunately, some of the work fell upon his newly appointed advisor—though not nearly enough.

And speak of the devil.

His new advisor, "Sir" Miles, had just shuffled into the room, garbed in deep, navy-blue robes that were much too long for him. Joshua disliked him; he was a scruffy, useless man who, in Joshua's opinion, tried much too hard to seem neither scruffy nor useless. He wasn't much to look at, that was certain. He had scraggly black hair and a short, messy beard, and his gray eyes were small and sunken. His skin was pale, and he was almost always sickly and stumbling. Lastly, the man was related to the beast, Carlyle—he was his cousin or something of the sort. Joshua thought that, as King, he would be able to choose his own advisor, but apparently Miles was the only one who had adequate credentials.

So Joshua was stuck with him.

"Your Highness," Miles said emotionlessly, offering Joshua a lazy bow.

"Sir Miles," Joshua responded smartly; he wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste. "Excellent timing. I have absolutely no idea how I was landed with this rubbish"—he nodded down at the wordy parchment—"but I'd like you to take care of it for me. I feel I would fancy a little stroll around the courtyard."

"But, Your Highness," Miles replied, "those documents contain details concerning very crucial issues. It would be improper for me to sign them off without your written stance on the various matters."

Joshua snorted derisively, glancing down at the top piece of parchment. " 'Concerning a drug, its base created from the crushed needles of a rare desert cactus, that, when used, drastically increases the amount of adrenaline released during times of great physical demand.' " The King of Jehanna looked up at his advisor. "How, exactly, is that a crucial issue?"

For a very brief moment, Miles looked as though Joshua had just read the death sentence of his lover, but quickly snapped out of his altered state and answered weakly, "Perhaps I _can_ take care of it, Your Highness. Allow me."

His advisor's strange reaction already flickering from his mind, Joshua rose quickly and made for the exit without a word.

"Oh, yes, of course," Miles muttered suddenly just as Joshua was crossing the threshold, "Your Majesty, one Sir Gerik arrived just recently, claiming he had an appointment with Your Highness. I let him in under guarded escort, and he is currently waiting for you in the lounge. Does Your Highness wish to see him?"

Joshua froze in his tracks. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"This business with the, ah, paperwork drove it from my mind, Your Majesty," Miles explained in semi-stutter. "I apologize."

"Never mind, never mind," Joshua grumbled distractedly, reentering his stride and slamming the door closed behind him.

As Joshua made his way to the lounge, his pace brisk, he regarded Gerik's arrival; it was rather cheeky of him to arrive this late at night. But then again, maybe it wasn't; perhaps Gerik was just being thoughtful? Joshua knew that the mercenary leader was as sharp as his sword—he wouldn't appear at a time like this without proper reason, so what was it? Did he understand Joshua's longing for a chat with a real or comrade, or was he making up for his extreme tardiness by being overly prompt?

Before he reached a proper conclusion, Joshua had arrived at the lounge. A pair of servants pulled open the double doors for him, and there was Gerik, purple headband and all. He sat lazily next to the fire, boots raised, carefully polishing his Steel Blade. Upon Joshua's entry, he looked up, then hurriedly sheathed his weapon and rose. He was in the process of bowing when Joshua waved a hand at him impatiently.

"None of that," Joshua said, reaching Gerik and offering him a hand. "We're friends. I'll just end up feeling awkward—it's bad enough with complete strangers."

"As you wish, King Joshua," Gerik replied with a feral smile, giving his comrade's hand a firm shake.

"You could lay off the honorifics, too," Joshua added as the two seated themselves.

Gerik chuckled. "Giving orders already. Damn, you're a natural."

Joshua ignored him. "I expect you won't mind explaining your lateness? You were to be back less than three weeks after your departure; that's what we agreed to, was it not?"

"Cutting right down to business, eh?" Gerik said, eyeing his friend curiously. "Interesting."

Joshua sighed; he was sighing far too often nowadays. "Look, it's been a long two months, all right? Just tell me what happened."

"You won't like what you're going to hear."

Joshua stiffened. "What? Did something happen to—?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Gerik cut in quickly. "Joshua, my friend, it was a swashbuckling adventure by all accounts. There was drinking. There was gambling. There was fighting… _lots_ of fighting: Bandits, pirates—thieves of all sorts. Hardly a day when we didn't take arms. I regret to say that you would have enjoyed it immensely."

Joshua chuckled lightly, then, quite suddenly, broke into a thick roar of a laugh. Gerik eyed his comrade skeptically, moving a hand toward his sword.

"Ah, Gerik, these last two months have been hell," Joshua heaved, as soon as his raucous chortling had died away. "Hearing you say these things gives me new resolve—my mother won't be too displeased with me, will she? I won't leave her for long!"

There was still uncertainty in Gerik's stare as he said, quite calmly, "You all right, Joshua?"

"I will be as soon as I get out of here," Joshua said. "Now… I believe you owe me a duel?"

"True enough."

"Would you be averse to holding it now?"

Gerik ran a scarred hand through his hair. "You've had it rough, haven't you?" He exhaled. "To be honest, Joshua, I am a little weary from our travels."

"Fair enough," Joshua relented. "We can't have our duel if you're not at your peak."

"I never said anything about that," Gerik said roughly. "You should know that a mercenary has no control over when he fights; the best of us can fight equally well under a wide variety of conditions, including the dead of night."

"Then there should be no qualms," Joshua said brightly, the cheeky smile that had once been his trademark returning to his face. "I'll have the servants prepare the courtyard. And I'll need a weapon as well, of course! Let's see…"

Twirling about face, Joshua strode eagerly from the room, leaving a slightly miffed Desert Tiger in his wake.

"Madness."


	2. Duel

The courtyard was not meant for nocturnal use, with naught but the moonlight illuminating the sharply trimmed grass with a silvery light. Ironically, it was one of Joshua's favorite nighttime haunts, a place where he could escape the tiresome servants and crowds of the castle. The ground was warm and the air cool—that was, as cool as the came in such a fierce desert climate. Joshua never realized how difficult it was to keep the courtyard maintained; his mother hadn't told him that it required its own maintenance team! Resource draining and time-consuming, if Joshua weren't so fond of the place, he would have discontinued its use long ago.

Clear as the night was, swordplay was a sport of precision, and it wouldn't do to rely entirely on the natural light. To remedy this, Joshua had sent Miles to recruit a half score of servants to assist with the illumination. While the servants scoured the castle for extra lamps and lanterns, Joshua paid a brief visit to his private quarters. Hidden there, deep in an unused closet, was the curved Killing Edge he had used during the majority of the War of the Stones. He preferred Audhulma, of course, but it was stuck in a shrine somewhere deep in the palace, and obtaining at the moment would be more trouble than it was worth. The Killing Edge was lighter besides, and for this duel Joshua knew he would need his speed.

By the time Joshua had returned to the courtyard, sword in hand, Gerik, along with the half score of servants, were in waiting. The preparations were nearly complete, and Joshua took a moment to stretch and take a few practice swings. Gerik simply watched Joshua with his sword at his side—mentally critiquing his routine, perhaps, having already warmed up himself. As the final servant raised her torch, Joshua concluded with several quick strides in place. He then took several steps toward Gerik and spread his legs and straightened his arms in a battle ready position as Gerik did the same. A light desert breeze played through the courtyard as the two comrades waited for each other to make the initial blow.

Joshua lost patience first, throwing his body forward and reaching Gerik in four rapid strides. He feigned a high vertical strike, then swept his blade in a diagonal motion, aiming for the chest. Gerik had raised his Steel Blade to intercept the fake, but caught on quick enough to avoid the real blow with a quick backward lurch. Before his opponent could regain his lost ground, Joshua was on the attack again, delivering a torrent of blurred slashes, each of which were countered with steadfast blocks and parries. After nearly a dozen avoided blows, Gerik leaped a low, sweeping stroke, finally freeing up his sword. With a grunt, he brought the blade down hard and fast.

With a split second to decide whether to dodge or block, Joshua thrust his Killing Edge in the path of Gerik's blade before it gained too much momentum. After the blow held fast, he then wrenched it along the edge of the opposing weapon, taking a vicious hack down at Gerik's chest. The tip of Joshua's curved blade came with half an inch of grazing his comrade as Gerik shifted quickly backward. For a lengthy two seconds that seemed to freeze time for Joshua, his back was completely exposed to his partner; fortunately, Gerik was too busy avoiding the follow through of Joshua's assail, and did not capitalize on the opening. Hurriedly, Joshua drew his blade back defensively as Gerik righted his position.

"You've been practicing," Gerik said gruffly, raising his blade.

"Naturally," Joshua responded with a smug grin. "I'd hate to lose my touch, you know?"

Gerik sniffed. "I doubt that's even possible, but…"

"Enough talking."

Joshua lunged again, locking his Killing Edge into a strict series of maneuvers, swinging air-ripping stroke after air-ripping stroke at his comrade. Despite the lethal complexity of his partner's blows, Gerik stayed even, dodging and intercepting the assaults without yielding even an inch of ground. For several lengthy minutes Joshua kept on the attack, his curved blade raining down on Gerik like a furious hailstorm. As time passed, Joshua grew more and more frustrated at not landing a hit, and his attacks became progressively harsher and more vicious. Yet still, somehow, Gerik held on, proving his unshakable longevity by avoiding each and every stroke.

Issuing a violent hiss as his most polished series of blows was defended without flaw, Joshua took a step back, his breathing heavy and ragged. Gerik looked no better. Defending Joshua's peerless strikes had taken a toll that was both mental and physical—there was still one thought on his mind, however, and that was to deliver an attack of his own while his comrade was still recovering. Utilizing every ounce of strength that remained pumping in his flesh, he sprang forward with a roar, laying down a single, bone-shattering vertical swing with his Steal Blade.

It was not a slow assault, but Joshua saw it coming. With his entire body wheezing in protest, Joshua stumbled back—it was all he could do —to avoid Gerik's steel. Pushing his physical limits, to Joshua's horror, Gerik continued his charge, righting his blade and swinging again. Joshua had no choice but to retreat once again, his footing more uneven still. Adrenaline pushing the aches of Gerik's body aside, he pursued Joshua with a brutal determination, rising and bringing his blade down one last time. With a small shout, Joshua lurched back a final time, his time losing his footing completely. As his backside hit the grass, Gerik's Steel Blade sailed over him.

With a flourish, both duelists thrust forward their blades; Joshua's ended up pointing at Gerik's lower chest, while the thick Steel Blade hovered just above King Jehanna's throat. The two comrades stilled in this position for a long moment, their chests rising and lowering deeply as they sucked heavily for air. A thick silence filled the desert night, only to be broken seconds later by a light applause issuing from a trio of spectators that had arrived mid-duel. Gerik and Joshua finally broke their statue-like positions to identify the source of the noise.

The first of the three spectators—standing several strides away from the other two and ending his applause first—was Sir Miles. He struggled to appear impressed by the spectacular swordplay, but was clearly fooling no one. The second was a slim, violet-haired woman clad in mercenary garb—Marisa, the Crimson Flash. She had enjoyed the show, it appeared, but she seemed slightly dejected; Joshua reasoned it was because she felt left out. This was natural enough for her, as Joshua knew that fighting was her only real passion. To her right stood Tethys, scantly-clad and stunning, her hands resting on her hips in a leisurely manor. As soon as the two noticed their comrades had become unfrozen, they strode quickly over to join them.

"Your Highness," Miles began, "these two—"

"I know them," Joshua cut in, sheathing his blade and allowing Marisa to pull him to his feet. "You're excused."

"By your leave," Miles said, bowing hastily and departing.

Joshua rolled his eyes, then returned them to Gerik, who was on the receiving end of very warm hug from Tethys.

"Who was that?"

Startled, Joshua realized that it was Marisa who had addressed him—surprising, as she very rarely started conversations of any sort. He eyed Marisa for a moment before responding, noticing how suddenly interested she was at the state of the ground.

He shook his head. "The scruffy idiot who was giving you a hard time?"

"Yes."

"That's Miles. King's advisor—that is, _my_ advisor. Useless cur. You remember Carlyle, right?"

It took a Marisa a few seconds, then: "The man who betrayed your mother."

"That's him. Miles is a relative."

"Problematic."

"Potentially," Joshua agreed, casting Marisa another glance; her eyes were still glued to the grass. "Something interesting you see there on the ground?"

Marisa's eyes whipped upward, her face reddening slightly. Joshua raised an eyebrow—from Marisa, this was certainly odd behavior.

"You all right?"

"Yes."

Joshua grinned. "You're sure?"

"Yes!"

The grin widened. "Marisa, you're flustered. This isn't like you."

"I am not flustered."

"I think you are."

"I think you're wrong!"

Joshua took a step back, raising his hands in surrender; Marisa's shout had caught the attention of the others.

"Is there a problem?" Gerik asked, clearly perplexed.

"I'm fine," Marisa spat, whirling about face and stomping moodily away.

"I suppose we should follow her…" Tethys said slowly, watching her depart.

"Joshua, you say something to her?" Gerik questioned.

Joshua shrugged. "Just teased her a bit."

"Odd," Gerik said, stroking his beard. "Mood swings aren't normal for Marisa—I'll have a talk with her later. As for you…"

"We tied at very best," Joshua supplied. "You owe me nothing."

"True enough," Gerik said, "but you may find that I'm useful guy to have around. For your trouble… I think one free job would be adequate compromise?"

"Generous," Joshua replied. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a little on the tired side. I don't suppose I could offer you a room?"

"No, no," Gerik declined. "We should be getting back. Marisa's probably on her way already."

"Suit yourself," Joshua relented. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you shortly, at any rate. Ah, but well met, Tethys—sorry we didn't get a chance to talk."

"Quite fine," Tethys said with a wink, taking Gerik's hand and pulling him lightly toward the palace.

"Good speaking with you again, Joshua," Gerik managed, offering him a meek wave as he was yanked away. "Don't hesitate to give me a call—it may be in your best interest to do it swiftly, too; God only knows how many requests we get these days."

"I'll do that," Joshua promised, returning the wave. "Sleep well."

Before Gerik could respond, he and Tethys were out of sight. Joshua lowered his hand, stumbling back slightly in the process; he had worked his body to the bone. He was about to depart as well when he noticed that the light-bearing servants still dotted the courtyard.

"Oh, Gods, I'm sorry," he said hastily, nearly tripping over his own feet as he jolted to a halt. "You're all excused, certainly. Do as you will."


	3. Confrontation

Just as Joshua's shaking hand reached the bronze door handle of his quarters, he remembered something rather crucial. Something he had forgotten. Quick flashes of conversation flew through his mind.

"_Oh, you remembered our last bet! That makes me happy. All right, here goes..._

"_I want you to be my partner for a while... How's that sound?"_

"_What? Your partner?"_

"_Don't get the wrong idea. I just meant for training. And gambling."_

"_So, nothing would change..."_

"_Well, I suppose, but there's still a point to it all."_

"_What's that?"_

"_If I train with you, I'm going to become a better swordsman. And if we train together, maybe we'll each learn something."_

"_I could ask nothing better."_

Marisa wasn't supposed to leave. Joshua had won the bet. They were partners now. He had only done Gerik a favor by letting her leave with him to complete one last mission. Had she forgotten already?

Maddening.

Joshua abandoned the door and began sprinting for the main gate, pushing his wary body to the limit. He had won fair and square, and like hell he was going to let her escape again. How easy a lengthy trip with Gerik and company had strayed her thoughts! And Marisa didn't walk slowly by anyone's measure, so if she had made up her mind to take off, she'd have reaching mercenary headquarters by now. But that wouldn't stop Joshua. He was willing to march all the way out mercenary HQ and haul her back—even in his tired state.

As he maneuvered the halls, guards and sleepy servants dodged away from him, baffled by his behavior. In the past five months, they had only witnessed a bored, quasi-depressed King Jehanna. The change was quite alarming. Some had known him as a boy, of course, before he escaped to begin life as a mercenary, but most had still forgotten his former zeal. Now that the pep had returned, many of them knew not what to think. At the moment, though, they _did_ know to simply to get out of the way.

Heaving heavy breaths, Joshua skidded to halt just in front of the gates. Marisa was there, arms folded, staring off into space. He could barely make her out; the torches, needing soon to be replaced, provided only a feeble, flickering light. The gate was closed, so there was no extra illumination from the moon and stars. A single guard stood nearby, sleeping from the looks of it, his lance held slackly in his loosened hand. Marisa hadn't spotted him yet, so Joshua seized the opportunity to harass the napping guard.

Using the shadows for cover, Joshua snuck up on the guard from behind. He controlled his footfalls so they made only small sound as his boots padded along the floor. Marisa, with the heightened senses of an able swordswoman, would not be fooled; she spotted him almost immediately and was about to comment, but Joshua shushed her with a finger to his lips. She shrugged then returned to staring off into space. By that time, Joshua had reached the snoozing guard.

"CLOSE THE GATES WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" Joshua shouted at the top of his lungs, clapping the guard on the back with both hands.

The guard nearly leaped out of his uniform as he awoke, groping spastically for his lance. He swore as it fell and clattered to the ground, and in the process of reaching down for it, he remembered that the gates needed closing. Abandoning his weapon, he grasped for the crank and went to work. It took several heaves before he realized that the gates were already closed. He rounded on Joshua, on the verge of badmouthing him for the bad information; he stopped as soon as he recognized Joshua, horrified that he had almost shouted at his king.

"Your Majesty!" he said, saluting clumsily.

Joshua grabbed the guard's lance and handed it to him. The guard's face flushed with embarrassment.

"You shouldn't sleep on the job," Joshua said with an easy smile. "Tempting though it is."

"Yes, sir! Er, Your Majesty, sir!"

Joshua patted him on the shoulder. "You'll do fine."

"Thank you, Your Majesty, sir!"

Joshua favored him with a friendly nod, then sauntered over to where Marisa was standing. Placing himself in front of her, with about two feet separating them, he waited. Marisa was still staring off into a space. Joshua followed her gaze, his eyes landing somewhere along the far corner of the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guard looking in the same direction. Joshua rolled his eyes, then turned back to face Marisa. He waited. A minute. Two minutes. Five. She would not look at him.

"I'm glad you remembered," Joshua said, finally breaking the silence.

She still didn't look at him. Joshua sighed.

"Are you mad at me?" he tried.

"Yes."

Still no eye contact.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"You were teasing me."

"Yes, I was," Joshua admitted. "But I thought you were secure enough to handle it."

No response.

"And I think normally you are," he continued gratingly. "Is something bothering you?"

"No."

"Nothing at all?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes! Please leave me alone."

"We're partners now, you know," he reminded her.

"I know."

"You seemed to like the idea when we talked about it during the War of the Stones. Why the change of heart?"

Marisa didn't answer, her gaze still averted.

"Tell me," Joshua insisted, patience tried.

No answer.

"Marisa—"

"Leave me alone," Marisa cut in hollowly.

"You could at least have the decency to look me in the eye," Joshua snipped, a pinch of bitterness and anger now stewing with his impatience.

"Why should I?"

Movement flicked in Joshua's peripheral vision; the guard was gaping at Marisa's defiance toward King Jehanna.

"You have something to add?" Joshua growled at him.

"No, Your Majesty, sir!" the guard replied hastily, turning away and favoring the gates with his best stoic, indifferent expression.

"We could talk somewhere a little more comfortable," Joshua offered, turning back to Marisa.

Nothing. And still no eye contact.

"Look at me," Joshua said quietly.

"Why should I?" Marisa repeated.

Joshua reached forward and grasped Marisa's face, turning it so that her eyes met his. She raised her own hand in response, aiming to swat off Joshua's hold. Joshua's second hand intercepted it. Marisa then shoved Joshua off her with _her_ second hand and he staggered back, releasing her. Marisa's eyes still held his, cold and hard.

"There we go," Joshua said.

Marisa narrowed her eyes and looked away.

Joshua snarled, stepping toward her again. In one fluid motion, Marisa had her sword unsheathed and pointed at him. The guard gasped. Joshua ignored him, not yielding an inch as he drew his own weapon. Marisa made no action to stop him.

"You'll have to look at me now."

Joshua swung. Marisa parried then went on the offensive, striking back with a passionate fury. As he intercepted the blow, Joshua felt his muscles resonate with a powerful ache—the fierce duel with Gerik had left him weak, meaning he would have to end this skirmish quickly. And fortunately he did. Marisa's anger made her form sloppy, and after just a few strokes Joshua had disarmed her, sending her sword flying across the hall, rather close to where the guard stood. With a yelp, he raised his lance defensively, but the blade clattered harmlessly to the floor a few feet in front of him.

"Can we talk now?" he asked.

"No."

But at least she was looking at him. That was a start.

"Well, if you're going to become my partner like you promised, you not wanting to talk to me is going to be a problem."

"I don't mind talking to you."

"Then what's the problem?"

"There is no problem."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

Joshua sighed; he was going to have to lay down the trump card. Marisa had started acting funny ever since Tethys had greeted Gerik after their duel, so he had had his suspicions.

"It's about Gerik, isn't it?" he said evenly.

A flicker of shock passed over Marisa's face; before she could control it, Joshua smiled knowingly.

"I'm sorry to tell you this," he said, "but you don't really have a chance."

Marisa's sword hand shook. "I don't… know what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

"I don't."

Joshua slid the hat from his head and ran his fingers through his hair; if anyone had told him prior to tonight that he would be having going through this kind of talk with Marisa, he would have laughed and called them crazy.

"So you have feelings for Commander Gerik. You don't—" he held out his hand, as it seemed Marisa was about to denounce his assumption "—have to admit it, because I know you'll fight every inch with me if I tried to play that game. What you should have probably realized by now, though, is that he and Tethys are… well, that's pretty much a done deal. Am I right?"

"I don't—" She cut herself off, unable to finish her thought.

"This will much less painful if you just cooperate," Joshua said. "So how 'bout it, hm?"

"Cooperate how?"

"Just play along."

"Play along how?"

Joshua face-palmed and allowed himself another deep sigh.

"You truly are useless at this," he muttered.

Marisa frowned. "Useless at what?"

"All right, look," Joshua said, sliding his hand from his face. "Apparently you think you still have a chance with Commander Gerik, otherwise you wouldn't be acting like this. Gerik promised me a job for our duel, so he'll swing by here eventually—probably sooner rather than later. That will give you ample opportunity to question him about the status of his relationship with Tethys."

"I don't know if I like that."

"Hm?"

"I don't know what I would say."

"Well," Joshua said, "I suppose _I_ could ask, disguising it as a 'well, just out of curiosity' thing. I mean, now that I think about, having you to do something like that would be kind of like sending a palace servant off to fight a Manakete."

Marisa had no response; her face was simply tight with thought.

"Well, I don't know about you," Joshua prompted, "but I'm rather tired, and I'd say it's quite late. Time for sleep, perhaps? I'll have a servant escort you to a guest room, if you want."

Marisa still said nothing, but she followed Joshua as he turned and strode away from the gates. Joshua spared the guard one last look before he departed, and could only chuckle to himself as he realized that the guard, once again, had fallen asleep.


	4. Uprising

_The wind stirred, and Joshua's eyes flicked toward the trees in front of him; their branches seemed to taunt him, undulated lightly, as if they knew that they could be concealing swarms of monsters that could strike at any moment. Indeed, the spaces between the groves were cloaked in an eerie darkness. A deathly silence suffocated the air, accompanied by the lingering, acid stench of raw flesh and breath of the damned. Joshua's hand was tight around his blade, and his stance was rigid._

_This was Darkling Woods—the final impediment separating them from the Demon King._

_Joshua stood as one point of a triangle that rested at the center of a small clearing; completing the formation was Gerik, to his left, and Marisa, to his right. After an early ambush, the three of them had been separated from the main group. And whether they were even close to their other comrades, Joshua was unsure. The forest, so corrupt with the damned monsters, seemed to swallow sound entirely. For all Joshua knew, the entire army could be fighting just one clearing over._

"_Well, this is a fine mess, isn't it?" Gerik observed._

"_It's only a mess once the monsters show up," Joshua replied._

"_And how long do you think that will take?" Gerik asked. "This forest is crawling with them."_

_Joshua grinned. "Wanna bet on how long it'll take?"_

_Gerik nearly broke formation to turn toward Joshua and offer him a stupefied look. "I hope you're joking."_

"_I'm not. What do you suggest we do to pass the time? Sing a song? I could teach you the royal ballad of Jehanna, though it's in that damned ancient language I never bothered to learn…"_

_Marisa shifted stance. "They're here."_

_From the darkness launched two Mauthe Doogs, one at Joshua and the other at Marisa. Joshua cut his down in a single stroke, the magic of Audhulma incinerating the corpse before it hit the ground. Marisa dodged left from her attacker, stikcing her Shamshir between the monster's eyes. She kicked the corpse aside as a second Doog flew at her; this time she decapitated the monster a split second before it reached her._

_Mauthe Doogs began flooding them from all sides; Gerik and Marisa's blades were soon wet with the monsters' pungent blood. Joshua's Audhulma remained clean, however, as any blood that touched its surface sizzled and evaporated in a trail of smoke. With his magically charged weapon, he was incinerating up to the three Doogs at a time, sending them flying twenty feet into the air before they vanished._

_Then the flood ceased. Replacing it were ominous crunches from the foliage, and the three sword-wielding comrades stepped back into position. Seconds passed as the crunching grew louder, then a pair of Cyclops stepped into the clearing, each bellowing a throaty roar. They raised their enormous axes and charged, their monstrous bounds covering huge distance._

_Fearlessly, Joshua lunged at the nearest. The monster swung its axe, which barely missed cleaving Joshua as he jerked back. The sheer power of the swipe sent forth a buffer of air that nearly knocked Joshua off his feet; before he could regain his balance, the Cyclops was attacking again. Joshua bent his knees and jumped, soaring over the swinging axe and directly toward the monster's meaty torso. Joshua had never slain a Cyclops with Audhulma before, but he was only vaguely surprised when the monster's entire upper body exploded in a shower of blood as he sunk the blade into its chest._

###

Joshua awoke from his long sleep to a sharp set of pounds issuing from the door. He considered pulling his pillow over his head and going back to sleep, but the knocking grew louder. Grumbling incoherently, Joshua threw off the covers and rose. He pulled on some clothes that were vaguely presentable and made for the door. Waiting for him across the threshold was Sir Miles; he might have been sporting a worried expression, but Joshua couldn't tell.

"Easy with the door, there," Joshua said, voice groggy. "What's going on?"

Miles pursed his lips. "May I come in, Your Highness?"

"Fine."

Joshua stepped back, allowing Miles entrance; he directed his advisor toward one of the comfy armchairs but Miles declined, opting to stand. Joshua himself sat back down on his bed, eyeing Miles carefully. Usually he could read his advisor like a book, but now he was having trouble. On the outside, Miles seemed worried, but to Joshua his expression lacked… validity. But then again, he had never seen Miles concerned about anything—distraught, perhaps, but never concerned. It was odd.

"Has something happened?" Joshua repeated.

"Well…"

Joshua frowned. "Out with it."

Still Miles hesitated. "Your Highness… this morning we received news of a very widespread attack on many of Jehanna's major cities."

Joshua straightened. "Attack?"

"It was not invasion; the attacks came from local bandits. None of the cities were occupied, but they were brutally pillaged. Thousands of citizens are dead. Anything of remote value was stolen."

"That's not…" Joshua shook his head. "How is that possible? Which group of bandits is responsible?"

"They've united," Miles replied. "All of them. They're calling themselves the League of Thieves."

"That still makes no sense. Even combined, they wouldn't have the manpower to ransack several cities at once. We have soldiers and hired mercenaries stationed at each… they've always been enough to quell any disturbances with minor losses."

"Reports tell us that the bandits were drugged."

"Drugged?"

Miles held up a piece of parchment; Joshua recognized it as being part of the paperwork that he had handed off to Miles the day before.

"Remember this?" Miles asked; there was cold gleam in his eye. "Cacti Morali—the adrenaline drug. Apparently, it made the bandits near unstoppable. It's effects proved more potent than we originally thought." He sniffed. "But you deemed it as unimportant."

"Don't waste time lecturing me." Joshua rose and began pacing. "Where are these bandits now? We need to take care of them as soon as we can."

"They believe they are safely hidden," Miles replied, "but thanks to an informant, we have ascertained their location."

Joshua stopped. "A reliable informant?"

"Of course."

"May I speak with him?"

Miles floundered for just a tiny moment. "He… has already left."

Joshua did not pursue the matter. "Have you _ascertained_ how many men this League of Thieves has fighting for them?"

"Only a few hundred. Maybe less."

"Few hundred?" Joshua paused, resuming his pace. "What are the full effects of this drug? It couldn't just boost adrenaline."

"Indeed. It has shown signs of granting an increase in bodily strength. It also makes the user rather… berserk."

"All right, then. I want you to form a strike force utilizing as many men as you can without jeopardizing the defense of Jehanna Hall. Next, contact the Mercenary Guild and request as many men as they'll be willing to part with. Also make sure Commander Gerik is specifically contacted, informing him that King Joshua is interested in his free job."

Miles bowed. "It will be done, Your Highness." He made for the door.

"Oh, and Sir Miles," Joshua added just as Miles was leaving the room, "make sure our total numbers are at least five times greater than then theirs. This drug concerns me."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Once Miles had left for good, Joshua fell back onto his bed and ran a hand through his hair. This was his first major obstacle as King Jehanna, and he could not afford to blunder. It was not like his title of King was at stake, but he had heard too many stories concerning rebel uprisings that stormed palaces and killed rulers that did not fall well with the public. He would disgrace his mother's memory with such an end. She had always pleased the people, and they in turn showed her undying loyalty.

That's what he needed. Undying loyalty. To be loved by his people.

The word 'love' made Joshua think of Marisa. Joshua assumed she had not yet left, as per her promise to stay by his side, but these days she was a loose canon. If there was one thing Joshua learned as both a prince and a mercenary, it was that love made people irrational. And if Marisa was to be his partner, he couldn't have her acting irrational. That meant that he had to resolve her love interest; and while it was a task that most likely required Gerik's presence, Joshua could at least prepare her.

From experience, Joshua knew that Marisa did not sleep in, nor would she be lounging around the guest room—or _anywhere_ inside, come to that. Joshua first tried the courtyard, and was not at all surprised to see Marisa beating down on some poor off-duty guard with a practice sword. For a brief moment he thought her opponent was the guard from last night, but as he drew closer he realized it was not.

Marisa had just finished laying the guard out with one final swing when Joshua reached her. She looked up at him, expression indifferent—in Joshua's mind, that was a victory in and of itself; she could easily still be mad at him or, like last night, refuse to look at him completely.

"Thought I'd find you here," Joshua said.

"I like this place."

"So do I. Shame it costs a fortune to maintain."

Marisa titled her head slightly. "You slept late."

"That I did," Joshua agreed. "So… have you heard the news?"

Marisa shook her head.

"Jehanna is having some major bandit problems. They've all united under one banner, pumped themselves up with strength-enhancing drugs, and pillaged some major cities."

"That's bad."

"Yes, it is. Fortunately, we know where they're hiding out. I've ordered Sir Miles to put together a strike force that should wipe them out."

"Will you be part of it?"

Joshua hadn't considered that, but he liked the idea. "I imagine."

"And me?"

"I'd be good if you went, especially if I choose to go."

Marisa licked her lips. "And what about…?"

Joshua smirked. "Gerik?"

Marisa nodded.

"I've requested his assistance, and he can't turn me down. He'll probably show up later today." Joshua examined the tips of his fingers. "That should give you ample time to—"

Marisa's face flushed. "I thought you were going to ask."

The smirk grew. "Ask him what_,_ again?"

Marisa stared down at the guard she had leveled; he appeared to be unconscious. "You know… last night, we… we—"

Joshua laughed. "I'm just messing with you, Marisa. I'll ask him."

Marisa's eyes rose from the guard, back toward Joshua. "Good."


	5. Two

_The skirmish raged. As Gerik had suggested, there was no lack of monsters in Darkling Woods—they continued to pour out of the trees, wave after wave, the stream of enemies so thick that Joshua felt that his arms might fall off before the battle was through. Fortunately, even the Demon King had some limit to his resources. At long last the woods were silent again, with not a monster in sight. Joshua released a huge sigh of relief, sheathing Audhulma and letting his arms flop to his sides._

_Joshua observed his companions. Gerik looked as tired as he—even Marisa seemed less rigid in the way she held herself. The grass around them was slick with blood and the monster corpses sat in piles. Gerik had begun to wipe his face and arms with a towel he had taken from his person. Joshua thought well of the idea; he took out his own towel and began wiping his skin clean of blood. Marisa simply stood as she usually did, alert for another potential attack._

"_You've blood on your face," Joshua told Marisa; with little success, he had moved on to removing the blood from his hat—remarkable, actually, that it hadn't been at all stained during the countless other skirmishes up to that point._

_In response to Joshua's statement, Marisa simply shrugged._

"_She doesn't care much for her appearance," Gerik said, now wiping clean his sword._

"_I noticed," Joshua said, frowning. He spat into the towel and began rubbing it fiercely against his hat. "Why is that, Marisa? It is an odd trait for a woman."_

"_Whatever let's me move freely," Marisa said._

"_Eh." Joshua gave up on his hat, popping it back on his head and vowing to purchase a new one upon returning to Jehanna. His eyes returned to Marisa. "Well," he said, approaching her with the towel, "you may not care what you look like, but I'd rather not see your pretty face smeared with blood for the rest of the day."_

"_Chief," Marisa said as Joshua began dabbing at her face, "do you think I should care more about how I look?"_

_Gerik sheathed his sword and put away his towel. "I think you should be _you_, Marisa. It's what you're best at."_

"_All right."_

_Joshua straightened, finished with Marisa's face. "So anyway," he said, swinging the bloody towel on the tip of his finger, "who wants to bet on how long it'll be to we find the group?"_

###

As he waited for Gerik, Joshua examined his hat. It looked quite similar to his old one, but the fabric and stitching weren't quite the same. Stiff and smooth, it lacked the same homey, broken-in feel as the other that had kept his head warm for many years. Joshua gave the hat a toss. It rose, spinning a bit. As it fell he grabbed for it and missed. He was reaching down for it when a servant strode up to him.

"Yes?" Joshua said, daintily wiping the dust from his hat and placing it back on his head.

"Sir Gerik has arrived, your majesty."

"Good. Send him in."

The servant obliged, departing for a moment then returning with Gerik in tow. He bowed once and left the two alone.

"Found work already, eh?" Gerik said. "That was fast."

"As per your recommendation," Joshua replied.

Gerik nodded. "Yeah… I heard about what happened."

"I thought you might have."

"You're going to… put them down, then? The League of Thieves or whatever garbage they're calling themselves?"

"Yep."

"You know where they're hiding?"

"Miles seems to think so."

"Hm…" Gerik pulled at his beard. "Say, you know whether the other kingdoms have caught wind of it?"

"Are you asking whether I have petitioned for aid?"

"No. I'm asking whether they've heard of it."

Joshua considered. "I'd say it's safe to say that both Renais and Rausten have been informed. I trust they will not intervene unless I contact them first. As for the others, Frelia is too far away, Grado is wrapped up in its own affairs, and Carcino… well Carcino is Carcino."

"The bandit stronghold—which boarder is closest?"

"Rausten. There are a series of canyons and caves that line the border."

"And you march today?"

Joshua nodded. "We march today."

Gerik smiled. "To business, then. What part shall I play? Nothing too dangerous, I hope."

Joshua recognized Gerik's joking tone, but sensed something deeper. "Since when have you been adverse to danger?"

Gerik scratched his head. "Yeah, strange, right? Well, to be honest, Tethys and me…"

Joshua's eyes widened slightly. "You're engaged?"

"Little beyond that, actually."

"That smarts, Gerik. I was never told."

"Sorry. We didn't want to make it a big affair. At any rate, we'll be marrying soon and I'm going to take a little time off. Tethys fancies a little jaunt up to Caer Pelyn. Ewan's been writing furiously about how much his magic's improved, and I wouldn't mind seeing Saleh again."

"Well," Joshua said, "that makes my choice easy. Your job is to stay here and watch the hall."

Gerik blinked. "Truly?"

"Truly. Marisa and I will lead the march. Miles will still be here; when I'm gone he's in charge, as much as that irks me. He's useless, so I want someone who can lead properly should the bandits surprise us and lay siege on the hall while we're out hunting for them. Should anything arise, you'll have a couple wyvern riders at your disposal. Send any news with them. Hopefully there won't be any."

"Joshua."

"Hm?"

"What were you probing for? It's not like you to beat around a bush; under a normal circumstance, you would have given me the rundown straight away."

Joshua shook his head. "You're too observant for your own good."

"Perhaps."

"Yes, well, I hate to leave you in the dark, but I'd be better for me not to enlighten you."

"All right. Suppose it's not my business."

"No," Joshua agreed. "At least… not anymore."

With those words, Gerik was dismissed. Joshua had assigned him the finest guest quarters in the hall, and made certain a servant had him situated before setting off to find Marisa. It could have been a difficult process, for Jehanna Hall was vast and Joshua did not find her immediately, practicing in the courtyard, but most of the male servants seemed to have kept close tabs on her.

Joshua found her standing at the battlements overlooking the grounds where the army was being mustered. It was morning and the air was crisp and cool, though it would soon warm under the desert sun. Bellow, mercenaries were pouring in toward the gates where they were redirected by the officers, then organized them into different squads and companies.

Marisa did not seem particularly interested by the proceedings, but then she was difficult to read.

"I spoke with Gerik," Joshua said.

Marisa nodded. "I saw him arrive."

"He… well, I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"He has plans to marry Tethys. They're already engaged."

Marisa tilted her head once to the left, once to the right, then straightened it.

"All right," she said, face still an indifferent mask.

Joshua wondered how she did it.

"Are you upset?" he asked.

"Not really."

"Oh, come on, you must be a little."

She nodded. "Maybe a little."

"Well, that's something."

"I guess."

"Ha. Well, it's just you and me now, eh?"

"Just you and me?"

"Yep. I'm going to lead this little army, and you're coming with me."

"All right. As long as there's something to swing my sword at."

Joshua smiled. "I imagine there will be."

They stayed together for the rest of the morning, watching the army slowly come together; as it swelled in size, lines began to form and the various companies emerged. The force consisted entirely of infantry; horses were useless in the sand, the climate too arid for pegasi, and the few wyvern riders were used entirely for communication.

Words between the two were sparse, as expected, given Marisa's taciturn nature. Joshua didn't mind; his brain was reeling between thoughts regarding the welfare of his kingdom and the conversation between he and Gerik. His words and situation lead Joshua to a reassessment of the woman that stood next to him.

During the War of the Stones, when Marisa had first joined the team, her looks had piqued Joshua's romantic interest. Yet after just a few interactions, he soon believed her incapable of love. She was as sharp and cold as a shard of ice, raised simply to fight—to kill—and knew nothing beyond the sword.

Yet clearly she was not unfeeling—Joshua had been foolish to jump to conclusions. The realization struck a memory, one buried deep in Joshua's mind from a time long, long ago…

###

_Nine-year-old Joshua was having trouble cutting his steak. The knife was much too big for his hands, making his motions awkward and ineffective._

"_Prince," a nearby servant said, "may I assist you in the cutting of your meat?"_

_Joshua gave an animated shake of the head. "I'm going to be the best swordsman in all of Magvel; I shouldn't need help cutting steak."_

_Joshua's mother sat at the head of the table with Joshua to her left. To her right, facing Joshua, was Carlyle. The two sat close together, nearly touching; ever since his father's death, Joshua had noticed the two of them growing closer. Initially, his mother had been devastated. Now, though…_

"_All of Magvel, eh?" Carlyle said, smiling. "I thought you wanted to become the best swordsman in all of Jehanna."_

"_Not anymore!" Joshua said, zealously waving his fork . "Magvel is _way_ bigger."_

"_There sure are a lot of swordsmen in Magvel, though," Carlyle said. "Are you sure you can get better than all of them?"_

_Joshua considered. "Yeah it is big, isn't it? I mean, I haven't even been to all the different kingdoms… man, there must be a lot people in Magvel."_

"_Yes. Yes, there are."_

"_Yeah," Joshua agreed. "And they're all just a little different, huh? I bet some of them are even _way_ different."_

"_That's true."_

"_Hey…" Joshua went on, "d'you think that, even though people can be so different, that there's one thing we all have in common? Not something stupid like hands or eyes, but something really important."_

_Carlyle shrugged. "I couldn't say."_

_Joshua's mother put down her fork and wiped the corners of her mouth lightly with a napkin. "There is one thing, Joshua," she said._

"_Yeah? What is it?"_

"_Love."_

_Joshua frowned into his fork. "Love?"_

"_Yes. Every human being has the ability to love. If there's one thing you should remember—especially once you become king some day—it's that."_

_His mother's words had had an odd effect on Carlyle's face, but nine-year-old Joshua paid no notice. He thought for a moment, shrugged, then went back to attacking his steak._


	6. Monsters

_Darkling Woods, again eerily silent, still seemed to seethe with the rotting evil that lurked there. Neither Gerik nor Marisa took Joshua up on his bet concerning when their allies would find them, but as Joshua began calculating an estimation to himself, the quiet was broken but the rustling of flora. The three comrades tensed, drawing their swords, preparing for another attack._

_Joshua was the first to spot the brief flash of red hair, and perhaps the sound of hooves._

"_We're fine," Joshua said. "There are no monsters."_

_A few seconds passed, then a sleek, lithe warhorse burst into the clearing. On it sat the equally sleek and lithe form of General Seth, lance raised, prepared for a potential ambush. Gerik hustled out of the horse's path as Seth pulled back on the reins, slowing his stead as he realized that he had discovered friends as opposed to foes. Two more horsemen followed Seth; the blonde brothers Franz and Forde swept into the clearing behind him. Joshua and Marisa stepped back, allowing them room._

_Joshua smiled. "Well… perhaps monsters of a different sort."_

"_Yes," Forde agreed. "We're much less likely to eat you or rend your flesh with our claws."_

_Joshua raised his eyebrows. "Claws, Forde? You have claws?"_

"_Well—"_

"_How fare the others, General?" Gerik cut in._

"_We've had a few casualties," Seth replied, calm and composed as always. "But that's to be expected. Overall, we're holding up quite well. I'm glad we found you, though." His eyes scanned the clearing, lingering briefly on one of the fallen Cyclops. "From the looks of things, however, you've seen a fair bit of action yourselves. Any in juries?"_

"_Nothing major," Gerik said._

"_Good. Care to rejoin the main group, then?"_

"_Quite. Lead the way, General."_

_Seth obliged, turning his horse and leading the three warriors of Jehanna out of the clearing. Franz and Forde followed, bringing up the rear. Joshua watched Gerik and Forde begin a conversation, then observed Franz and Marisa's awkward silence a moment before quicken his pace and catching up the Seth. _

"_General."_

"_King Joshua."_

"_What do you think of this whole thing, anyway?"_

"_What do I _think_, King Joshua?"_

"_Yes. Our goal is to infiltrate the lair of the Demon King. The _Demon King_, Seth. We're going through all of this to face off with the _Demon King_."_

"_Ideally, King Joshua, we'll arrive before he awakens."_

_Joshua shrugged. "Even so. I can't help but feel uneasy advancing toward somewhere that's presence haunts the dreams of the boys, girls, men, and women on all of Magvel. The most terrifying place on the entire continent—_the lair of theDemon King_; that's our goal." Joshua glanced up at Seth, whose expression was still hard as granite and utterly unreadable._

"_You don't seem worried," Joshua said._

_Seth shook his head. Slowly._

"_Too fool even you, King Joshua, my acting must be very good."_

_###_

Sir Miles stood at the battlements, choosing much the same place as Joshua and Marisa had hours earlier. As he watched the horizon slowly swallow Joshua's army, he allowed himself a small smile. Miles was not a patient man. But now… well, now his patience had paid off. It was "so far, so good"—everything was going according to plan.

"Nice view up here, eh?"

Miles spun around. The man Joshua had called Gerik stood behind him.

"Sorry," Gerik said. "Didn't surprise you, did I?"

"No," Miles lied, "I'm quite all right."

"That's good. Say, you seem pretty happy to see them go."

"Ah… do I? That's… interesting."

"It is."

"Sir Gerik," Miles said, grasping the conversational wheel and steering the subject toward something more desirable, "I thought you would certainly be accompanying the king on his strike against the League of Thieves."

"So did I."

"If I may ask… what purpose does leaving you here serve?"

"He just wants me to watch over the Hall while he's gone. King Joshua tells me that your military experience is limited; he wanted someone a little more savvy to stick around should the League of Thieves take this opportunity to try and capture the Hall."

Miles frowned. "So King Joshua does not trust me."

Gerik shrugged. "I wouldn't say that. He just doesn't want to take any chances."

"Perhaps."

Miles turned and strode away. Gerik watched him go, now frowning as well. Joshua _hadn't_ trusted Miles; he had said so. Now, Gerik didn't really trust him, either. Scratching lightly at the side of his nose, Gerik looked back toward the mass of desert that stretched out before him.

Joshua's army was now completely out of sight.

###

Although not particularly surprising, the advance was slow. Even though the vast majority of Joshua's men had lived in Jehanna all their lives and were used to the conditions, marching the desert was still a difficult process. There were few roads in Jehanna, being incredibly difficult to maintain, and the sand made for very poor footing. Before too long, Joshua was sick of the sand himself.

The weather, too, proved to be a constant annoyance. Joshua couldn't remember the last time he had seen a cloud, and such absence the sun to pour its rays down on the army in an endless torrent of heat. The wind would not stay quiet, either. It blew and blew, carrying the sand with it, punishing those who had been foolish enough to forget something to cover their faces.

And yet they marched on—by Joshua's latest count, just over 10,000 men. Not much of an army, actually, number-wise, but he wouldn't call it anything else. He had split them into three divisions, two with 3000 men and one with 4000. He himself lead the larger division, which consisted of the Royal Guard—lead by Marisa—as well as a mixture of state soldiers and mercenaries.

The second division was made up entirely of soldiers. As recommended by Miles, it was lead by Lieutenant General Mortar, a man Joshua was not particularly familiar with. He certainly looked the part, at least—huge, big-faced and muscular, with a long, shaggy, black beard and mustache. The third and final division's ranks were filled with mercenaries, lead also by the mercenary Commander Mostak, whom Gerik had suggested to fill the role.

The days passed with a slowness that came only with spending each excruciating hour tromping across a long, seemingly endless wasteland. Nearly a week into the march, with dusk almost upon them, Lieutenant General Mortar brought news that they had at last reached the town of Osa. Joshua gave orders to set up camp outside the town. Osa had been built around a large, lush oasis, and was one of the places that had been attacked initially by the League of Thieves.

There were no more towns between Osa and the area Miles had indicated as the bandit's stronghold, so the army would need to re-supply before departing. Further, Joshua wanted to assess the damage inflicted by the League. There was to be a meeting between he army's commanders that evening, yet before that, Joshua wanted to first pay Osa a short visit.

Miles had told him not to expect danger in Osa, but Joshua was not prepared to trust his word. He recruited half the Royal Guard, Marisa included, to accompany him on his brief trip. The idea was to scope out the state of the town and determine where to pick up the needed supplies.

The Joshua and his Royal Guard held their collective breath upon stepping into the outskirts of Osa. Apart from appearing completely empty and desolate, the damage was widespread and immense—much worse than Joshua would have guessed. The fact that the town was so eerily devoid of life pressed an urge inside Joshua to leave as fast and as soon as possible.

Yet they needed supplies—the army could not be sustained on what they began with, especially when their aim was to storm the bandit's stronghold, separated still by so many miles of arid desert. Joshua chewed with his thoughts for a moment longer before making a decision.

"All right," he said, "we're going to split up and look for supplies… and people, too, come to that."

Joshua directed the division, splitting the men into six different groups. His group consisted of a dozen men, along with Marisa; the others were structured similarly. Before they departed, Joshua gave them one last order.

"You find anything—that includes useful supplies, townsfolk or _trouble_, especially—make sure to let the other groups know. It's not a particularly large town, so we should be able to hear you."

The men saluted, and the groups went their separate ways. Joshua led his group along the main road for a few hundred feet, then broke from it toward an inn that appeared to be named simply _The Crag_.

"This looks like a good place to start," Joshua said. "Six you stay out here and guard the entrance. The rest of you follow me. You, too, Marisa."

The inn was dark and silent, seemingly empty as the rest of Osa. There looked to be several stories, with a narrow staircase at the far corner. Joshua ordered three of the men to search the ground level, then led the rest of his party up the stairway. It opened up at the second floor, but went higher still. Joshua chose to ignore the third floor for the time being.

The second floor consisted of one dark hallway that snaked about, lined either side with numbered doors. Joshua tried the first door and found it to be locked. The second, third and fourth doors were locked as well, and Joshua was considering breaking into them when a series of muffled shouts came from outside. They were soon silenced, however; following the quiet, there issued a sharp _bang_ from bellow, sounds of scuffling, then again more screaming.

"Back to the stairs," Joshua whispered, pointing. "We'll cut them down as they come up."

Marisa and the three others in Joshua's party stepped lightly toward the stairway, weapons at ready. Joshua followed, allowing only a small separation between he and his men. They waited as the scuffling and yelling from downstairs subsided. Joshua was unsure of the victors until he heard one of the attackers grunt something to his comrades.

"Let's check upstairs. Stuk said he saw the lordling come in here."

More silence followed. Then––

"Fine."

Faster than Joshua was prepared for, two sets of pounding footfalls roared toward and up the stairs, growing louder and louder, until two ugly men appeared right in front of him, crashing down toward Marisa and the others. Marisa was fast enough to avoid death, but the other men were not; before they could swing their weapons even once, they were cut down, blood flying, dead before they could manage a scream.

Marisa was not fazed; before the two could move at her, she stuck one of them in thigh with her blade. Yet as if nothing had happened, as if there were no injury, her foe's axe came down at her, lightning fast, nothing more than a blur. Marisa was still faster, though only slightly; as her sword blocked the ax, flecks of the bandit's blood flew from its surface, speckling her face.

The second bandit then swung at her, but Joshua streaked forward and lopped the man's hand off with swift flash of steal. The bandit roared—not in pain but in anger. He rushed Joshua, reaching toward him with his other hand, huge and sweaty, snaring Joshua's neck. Joshua stabbed at the man, once in the gut, then again in the upper chest. The bandit would not let go, persisting in slowly crushing away the life of King Jehanna.

With a desperate gurgle, Joshua took one final swing at the bandit's arm, detaching it with a thick spray of blood. The hand fell limp from his neck, yet as Joshua stilled to suck in several deep breaths and recover from the chokehold, the bandit persisted, flailing his bloody stumps at Joshua, kicking and trying to bite at Joshua's face. Wide-eyed, Joshua scuttled back from the madman, finally killing him with a slash at the throat. The bandit's head fell at Joshua's feet, still salivating, eyes horribly puffy and bloodshot.

Marisa, now quite covered in blood, was having similar troubles with her foe. His ax arm, too, had been detached, but the bandit fought on, desperately swinging limbs and trying to seize Marisa with his teeth. Marisa's sword hacked and hacked, finding its target again and again, yet the bandit would not fall. Finally Joshua stepped in and stabbed the bandit through the head. For a moment it looked as the frenzied man might continue attacking, but with one final groan, he fell to the ground and remained still.

"You all right, Marisa?" Joshua asked, breath still labored.

"Yes…"

"So that's it, then," Joshua said, looking down at the head of the man he killed.

"What is?"

"The drug. Cacti Morali."

Marisa's eyes followed Joshua's.

"I see," she said.

"Hm?"

"The drug. It turns men into monsters."


	7. Blood

Gerik stopped. Someone was following him.

Again.

He didn't know what to make of it. Ever since Joshua had left with his army, Gerik had been followed wherever he went. He found it rather odd. Joshua had hired him to watch the castle, so why would he order the castle to watch _him_? It made no sense at all, and it also made Gerik wonder just who had ordered him to be followed.

It didn't take long for him to realize that there was only one man who would—or could—do such a thing.

Sir Miles.

What bothered Gerik more than that, though, was how little sense the order made. Why would Sir Miles order him to be followed? It could be that Miles didn't trust him, but that should not have mattered; Joshua trusted Gerik, and that should have been enough. If Miles didn't trust Gerik, it essentially meant that Miles didn't trust Joshua—his own king. Being a mercenary, Gerik didn't know much about kings and their relationship with their advisers, but the situation struck him as being… odd.

Gerik considered sending out one of the wyvern riders to inform Joshua that Miles was having him followed, but he didn't feel the need to bother Joshua with something so insignificant. Additionally, there weren't many wyvern riders to spare, so Gerik didn't want to overuse them. If Gerik found Miles doing anything else suspicious, though, he would not hesitate to send one out.

Until then, Gerik would work to discover the reason behind Miles's actions—he felt he would letting Joshua down if he didn't at least try. But what could he do? He could confront Miles, but that might not be the best course of action for obvious reasons. Another option was to do a little spying himself. It conflicted with how Gerik normally dealt with things, but it certainly wasn't beyond his ability. In fact, a plan was already forming in his mind.

If the man following Gerik was wondering why the mercenary had randomly stopped in the middle of the hall, he should no longer be concerned; Gerik was on the move again, heading for the courtyard—a regular destination. The man followed obediently, and Gerik smiled to himself. His idea was to practice with his sword until his pursuer got bored and went off to wherever he was next expected. At that point, Gerik would then follow _him_. Perhaps that way he could learn a thing or two about what was going on, and if he was caught he could easily feign ignorance.

So the plan went into practice. The man had more patience than Gerik expected, but it didn't matter. For hours Gerik swung his sword, and for hours his pursuer stayed and kept an eye on him. Finally, shortly after the sun had set, the man departed, leaving Gerik alone in the courtyard. The mercenary sheathed his sword and went after him, quickly as he dared. Fortunately, the man seemed tired and paid little attention to his surroundings, which made Gerik's job easy; he followed the man all the way back to Miles's quarters without a hitch.

Miles's quarters. Gerik licked his lips. He hadn't expected the man to lead him right to Miles, but he didn't mind. The only problem was that the quarters were being guarded by no less than four men—_four men_, fully armored and armed with lances. Gerik understood why Miles may want one or two guards, but four? It was more suspicious behavior, and once again Gerik felt the urge to contact Joshua.

The door to Mile's quarters opened, and the spy swept past the guards and entered. There was nothing more for Gerik to do now, so he turned and strode off—

—To find a wyvern rider. Gerik did not like taking chances; King Joshua would know of Miles's shifty behavior.

###

Joshua and Marisa were back at ground level, still inside the inn where they had been ambushed; in the process, they had seen the bloody progression of their drugged attackers through the corpses of the men from the Royal Guard that had made up Joshua's entourage. The two were alone now, in a desolate town that was most likely crawling with drugged bandits whose goal, it seemed, was nothing short of killing King Jehanna.

"All right, Marisa," Joshua said. "We're going to leave this inn at a run. We have to get back to the main army and warn them about what's going on, if they don't already know. Either way, we're not safe here. I don't know how many men are involved in this ambush, but once we're back with the main army, I'm going to take the whole lot of my men and clean this place out."

Marisa nodded.

"You understand the plan, then?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's… _go_!"

Joshua and Marisa swept out of the inn, the former nearly tripping over the bodies of his fallen men. He frowned as he skirted the corpses, silently apologizing for abandoning them. After everything was sorted out, he would be back, for they deserved a proper burial. Joshua couldn't help but cringe at the power of the drug, though. There had been just two bandits—two bandits that had cut through the six men guarding the outside of the inn, then all the others who were inside. Additionally, their attackers had seemed perfectly fresh and nearly unscathed when they faced off against Marisa and him.

It was… disturbing. And Joshua was not easily disturbed.

Twenty strides from the inn, Joshua and Marisa looked up to see an explosion of wood and debris as one of the Royal Guard burst through the wall of a nearby building. He fell some twelve feet and landed on his back in a bloody heap. A bandit, clearly drugged, poked his head through the newly created hole and spotted Joshua. Without hesitation he leaped down and would have landed directly on top of King Jehanna had Marisa not got in the way. She decapitated the bandit in one swift motion.

Joshua swore. He had taken half the Royal Guard into Osa and split them into groups of about a dozen men to search the town. Unfortunately, in such small groups they were easy pickings for the drugged bandits. Joshua wanted to warn them, wanted to order a retreat, but knew that it would alert his position to every enemy in Osa. Hopefully the Guard had already discovered the danger and were retreating.

Joshua's thoughts were jarred from his mind as a thick, shining thunderbolt crashed down feet in front of him. The impact knocked him from his feet. He was in the process of righting himself when he heard the whistle of an incoming arrow. There was no way he could dodge, but Marisa came to his rescue, blocking the projectile with her word. Joshua found his feet and quickly located his attackers. Before them was a single story home, its roof occupied by a mage and an archer.

"Let's get these bastards."

Marisa nodded, and the two them sprinted toward the building, swords at the ready. The archer let fly another arrow. Joshua batted it away with his sword just as the mage summoned another thunderbolt. Marisa shoved Joshua out of the way, taking the hit herself. Without so much as a yelp, Marisa rose from the ground then dropped, hair and clothes heavily charred. Joshua swore again but kept up his charge, hauling himself onto the roof with one arm. The archer had arrow in hand, but Joshua launched at him and plunged his sword into his chest.

The mage was already running, dropping clumsily from the roof. Joshua jerked his blade out from the archer and kicked the corpse away. He then leaped after the mage, who began to call forth another spell. Joshua reached him first, though, and stuck him through the head. Before the mage's body hit the dirt, Joshua was turned around and running back to Marisa, hoping—praying, Gods, _please_—that she wasn't dead. His breath was heavy, face streaked with sweat and heart beating furiously as he fell upon her body.

He checked her pulse.

And breathed a great sigh of relief.

It was short lived. Two more axe-wielding bandits were rushing at him. Again, they were drugged, eyes puffy and bloodshot. The closest held a Hand Axe and hurled it at him. It came fast, slicing a hole in Joshua's sleeve as he dodged to the left. The bandit reached for another axe at his back but wasn't quick enough. Joshua stabbed him through the chest, then faced his second foe. The bandit had reached Marisa, but she was stirring. His axe came down but Marisa rolled away from it. She tried to stand, but couldn't find the strength and crumpled back down. The bandit swung again. This time Joshua was there. Before the axe came down, Joshua delivered a swift killing stroke. The bandit fell with a grunt and spurt of blood.

Joshua reached down to help Marisa to her feet. Instead, she pointed toward something behind him. Joshua turned to see the bandit he had stuck through the chest. The man was still going, a foot from him, axe raised. Joshua lashed at him, slashing him across the chest. But he should have known better. I wasn't enough to stop the bandit's downward swing, which caught Joshua in the shoulder. Joshua yelled, more out of anger then pain. He hacked and hacked at the bandit until he was sure he was dead.

Joshua stood still and breathed. Blood dripped from his sword.

Suddenly he was dead tired. He tore at his clothes, making a crude makeshift bandage for his wound. With the blood flow stemmed, Joshua flopped down next to Marisa, too weary to keep standing.

"Well," Joshua said, finding it difficult to form the words between his ragged breaths. "Look at us now, eh? I don't think I can keep fighting."

"You should have left me."

Joshua looked at her. Charred and battered, but still beautiful. Somehow.

"How could I leave you?" he said.

"You're king. My life is nothing compared to yours."

"On the battlefield, that's not how my brain works. I'm going to do everything I can to help or save my comrades. That's just how it is. When I fight, when I draw my blade, I am no longer king. I become a warrior. A swordsman. And I am not the kind of swordsman who leaves his comrades behind. Especially not…"

Joshua coughed, then smiled weakly.

"You should save your breath," Marisa said. "You may soon need it."

"I hope not."

Just as the words left Joshua's lips, a new group of men were upon them.


	8. Plotting

Gerik had visited Jehanna Hall on a few occasions, but to say he was very familiar with the place would be untrue. It certainly wasn't a small building, and while he had never gotten completely lost, there were times when he had to swallow a bit of his pride and ask for directions. Now was one of those times, as no sooner he had adopted the idea of sending a message to King Joshua using a wyvern rider, he realized he had to no idea where he could find one.

This, naturally, came with a greater risk than just the potential for damaged pride. If, say, Sir Miles had a large portion of the servants and guards under his thumb, asking around for where he might find a wyvern rider could reveal his suspicions of whatever Miles was up to. Gerik, then, would have to come up with some way to figure who was most influenced strongly by Miles and who was not. A tall task, all things considered, and such sneaky work was not his strong suit.

Gerik considered. It would be extremely difficult to find out who was loyal to Miles through questioning, and he could hardy follow every guard and servant to see if they clandestinely reported to him. Thus, the answer came: he could only make an educated guess and hope he was right. Miles was, by anyone's standards, a somewhat new face around Jehanna Hall—at least in such a position of power. Thus, Gerik would speak with one of the oldest servants—old with, hopefully, a well-developed loyalty to the royal family.

So Gerik began his search. Here, too, he gave consideration; instead of making it clear that he was doing anything remotely more important than simply taking a stroll, he kept his movements casual. Paranoid, perhaps, but there was no reason not to take a few extra precautions. His real search began as soon as he was certain that no one was following him, and he headed first toward the kitchens—one of the few locations he could easily find.

Or at least he thought. Had it been a right then left after that suit of armor, or was he on the right floor at all? Annoyed, Gerik retraced his steps, still keeping his eyes active for anyone suspicious. Now he was pretty sure he was on the wrong floor, but upon taking the stairs down, his suspicions were not concerned. He was on the verge of abandoning the kitchen idea completely when he heard two voices, both female, slowly approaching. Gerik drew back toward the stairwell, allowing the conversation to proceed.

"—taking a ten-thousand man force to clean up the mess," the owner of the first voice was saying.

"Ten-thousand men?" came the second. "Will that be enough?"

"Enough? Ten-_thousand_ men?"

"Haven't you heard the rumors? About the drug?"

"Yes, I know. Ten-thousand should still be plenty."

Two servant girls passed Gerik and the stairway without a glance, continuing their conversation.

"I hope so," said the one with short, dark hair; she was younger than the first. "I hope King Joshua comes back okay."

"You don't like it when he's gone, do you?" said her friend.

"No. I mean, compared to Sir _Miles_—"

"He controls most of what we do even when the King is here, Marie."

"I know, but—"

Gerik heard a laugh. "You just like looking at King Joshua, don't you?"

And he'd heard enough. It would be foolishly optimistic for him to think that he'd find a better informant than this. Gerik stepped out and hailed the two servant girls, only just then realizing his mistake—he should have waited until the two were apart, since this doubled the chances of him speaking to an affiliate of Miles.

But too late now. Both girls had turned to look at him, and there was nothing left but to choose his target. They both seemed embarrassed, hoping—most likely—that the last part of their conversation hadn't been overheard. As he addressed the girl named Marie, Gerik tried to look friendly and reassuring—something he typically failed at. This time seemed no different as both girls stared, wide-eyed, at his scar.

"Hello," he said; the words sounded stupid in his own mouth. "Can I speak to, ah, Marie here alone? I have a message for her." This, of course, was a lie, but it was the best thing he could come up with.

Fortunately, her friend seemed more surprised than skeptical. Uttering a brief affirmative, she scurried away. Gerik listened for her footsteps to die away before speaking.

"I actually don't have a message for you," he said.

The girl blinked.

Gerik sighed. "I'm sorry, but I just needed to talk to you alone. It's very important to King Joshua, at any rate."

She blinked again. "What is it?"

"I need to send him a message. I'd like you to take me to find a wyvern rider."

It occurred to Gerik then, as the servant Marie nodded and began to show him the way, that a few of wyvern riders themselves may have allegiance to Miles. It was an unpleasant thought, but it did nothing to alter Gerik's plan. He would have to try to contact Joshua regardless. If Miles' influence was deep enough to reach even there, then there was little Gerik could do.

###

Even with his adrenaline pumping, it was as if his body was shackled to weights as Joshua rose to face the incoming enemies. His shoulder ached something terrible and while, mercifully, he hadn't injured his sword arm, the pain was still fierce. Worse, Marisa was having more trouble than him getting to her feet. He offered her an arm, which she took, and he hoisted her up. After a second, she wobbled and fell. Joshua had never seen her so weak, though she had taken a direct bolt of magic. Clearly it was up to him to hold off the attackers.

But he need not have worried. The three bandits advancing on him and Marisa went down in a torrent of arrows, all launched from a massive group of armored men that came pouring into Osa. Drugged though they were, the safety of King Jehanna had called for an abundance of arrows, enough to snuff even their unnatural will. Succumbing to exhaustion now that trouble appeared to be quelled for the moment, Joshua dropped down beside Marisa, indulging in deep, heavy breaths. He heard the Commander's voice from not too away:

"Healers, tend to King Joshua! Surround him and form up a guard! Divide and secure the town! Do not take any foes lightly! Once the the town is secure, search for supplies!"

Quickly, Joshua felt rather than saw a group of healers surround him. He caught blurred glimpse of white robes and staves. He tried to motion toward Marisa.

"I can last a few more… help her first…"

But there were enough healers to go around, it seemed. Once he saw two of them bend over Marisa, Joshua closed his eyes and laid back, the pain in his shoulder slowly subsiding. The last thing he saw was her face, eyes barely open, relenting into a peaceful rest.

After a long, uninterrupted block of sleep, Joshua awoke. He sat up, feeling just the slightest ache in his shoulder as he stretched his arms. They had placed him in bed and inside his tent, which he recognized immediately. Marisa stood above him, looking fit, the ghost of a smile on her face. Aside from the two of them, the tent was empty.

"How're you up before me?" Joshua asked, pulling the hair out of his eyes.

"It's the same every day," Marisa said. "I always need less rest than you."

Joshua shrugged. "Well, I thought maybe this time, since…" He stopped himself, frowning a little. "I suppose we were both hurt pretty bad."

Marisa nodded. "The magic was strong. I'm sorry that you had to protect me."

"Might as well get used to that, Marisa. I'm going to do it every time."

"That's fine." She paused, then added, "Both Commander Mostak and Lieutenant General Mortar want to talk to you in the General's tent. We were saved by Commander Mostak's men, as he gave the order when he thought something was wrong."

"Smart man. Glad I listened to Gerik and brought him."

"Both commanders would like your opinion on the main assault against the League of Thieves. We were able to bolster our supplies from what Mostak's men found in town after they drove out the bandits."

Joshua smiled. "Thanks for the update, Marisa. Why don't you come with me to the General's tent?"

"If you want."

Joshua slid off his bed, then pulled on his coat and boots. He followed Marisa out of the tent. It was dusk now, and just a clinging layer of deep, lavender light hung in the sky. They were still camped outside Osa, but the place was a bustle; dozens of fires had been built, and the soldiers not busy moving supplies and sharpening weapons talked and drank amongst themselves. Joshua noticed a subtle unease among the men, compared to the other evenings. News of the potent effects of Cacti Morali and the day's casualties seemed to have spread.

Joshua and Marisa soon arrived in the General's tent. It was no larger than Joshua's private tent, but it was better lit, and a folding table had been placed at the center. Commander Mostak and Lieutenant General Mortar stood around the table, staring down at a map of Jehanna that had been spread unfolded across it. Both men glanced up as the two entered, and Mortar seemed annoyed by Marisa's presence. Joshua gave him a hard glare, daring him to speak. Instead, Mortar looked away.

"Thank you for coming, Your Highness," Mostak said. He nodded at Marisa. "The Lieutenant General and I were discussing our plan of attack."

Joshua had not taken much time to examine Commander Mostak, but his appearance and demeanor were both atypical of a mercenary commander. He held himself with the air of a noble, had light skin with no visible scars, and wore his hair short and neat. Not that Joshua ever judged a man by his appearance, but it was an interesting contrast to Gerik.

"The Lieutenant General," Mostak continued, "has posed the idea of attacking the bandit stronghold from here—" he pointed at the map, "—as your intelligence reports that they have taken refuge at the base Hamill Canyon, near the border of both Renais and Rausten."

"And they have not attracted the interest of either border guards?" Joshua asked.

"No," Mortar said, although the question was direct at Mostak; the latter gave no sign that he was interrupted. "The canyons and gorges make for poor crossing points on all accounts, so both borders and lightly guarded."

"Very well," Joshua said. "The plan seems sound, then. Any grievances, Commander?"

"Only the obvious," Mostak said. "An ambush of any kind, given the landscape, would be disastrous. We must be as sure as we can that the bandits cannot predict our route of attack."

"The chances are very slim," Mortar said. "There are many potential routes. The bandits would have to make a very lucky guess."

"All the same," Joshua said, "I suggest we create a diversionary force of at least a few hundred men to draw any potential ambushes away from the main force. Thoughts?"

"I agree," Mostak said.

"No objections," Mortar said, though lacking enthusiasm.

"Good. We'll send that force here, then, and draw them out." Joshua traced a finger along the map. "Then the main force will flank the bandits as planned."

Both Mortar and Mostak nodded their approval.

Joshua grinned, straightening up. "It's simple enough, but I think it'll work."


	9. Drink

Normally, Marisa went to sleep not long after the sun set. Her father had been a mercenary, and his sleeping habits had become hers—early to bed, early to rise. "Keeps you sharp," he used to say, "and a good mercenary is as sharp as his blade." Their relationship had not been one of love, really, but one of regiment and… sharpness. Marisa had no fond memories of her childhood, but she had not been unhappy. More than a family, she had a lifestyle, and it was all she knew.

So, normally, Marisa would have been asleep. Yet this was not a normal night. In essence, she had already slept. After the fighting in Osa, she'd been knocked unconscious, and had woken up only two or three hours ago. And that had been her sleep. She knew she wouldn't tire again for another few hours, but it felt unnatural for her to be awake so late. Unlike Marisa, Joshua felt he needed additional rest, and he had returned to his tent directly after the meeting, leaving Marisa alone.

It was difficult for her to interact with the men of the army—the soldiers, especially, who did not know her as well as the mercenaries did. They all stared, and turned sheepishly and predictably as soon as she returned their glances. There were other women in the ranks, of course, but she stood out: she wore no armor, had a striking figure, and was entangled by various rumors regarding her participation in the War of the Stones.

She was never inclined to begin a conversation, and the men were never courageous enough to start one themselves. As a result, she stood in silence, away from the closest fire, and did nothing but observe. There was little to it; Marisa had spent her entire life listening to this type of conversation. And it didn't last. The men were tired, and soon the fires were extinguished and the groups dissolved. They returned to their tents, leaving Marisa to herself.

With the sun hours gone and flames doused, the camp chilled. Soon, Marisa thought she return to her tent, but not before a flux in the shadows caught her eye. No, with her eyes now adjusted, Marisa could see him almost clearly as he slipped out of his tent. It was Lieutenant-General Mortar, and he moved with the stealth of a well-trained thief despite his hulking frame. Marisa was not naturally suspicious, but Mortar had acted somewhat oddly during the meeting, and now he was sneaking around camp.

Marisa had a duty to King Joshua. She had already failed to protect him in Osa, and now this opportunity presented itself. Marisa followed Mortar; this was obviously odd behavior, and with the obvious risks already involved in dealing with a league of bandits powered by Cacti Morali, this anomaly had to be pursued. There was no room for doubt. Between the dark and the tents—with the sound of her footsteps deafened by the sand—she had no trouble following Mortar to the edge of camp.

Now where? Mortar, without hesitation, continued on toward Oso. Marisa watched him hurry across the bare strip of sand—about five hundred yards—that separated camp and the haggard stone wall that surrounded most of the town. Once he passed the wall, she sprinted after him. No use risking the chance that he'd see her. More than anything, it was that variety of confrontation that she wanted to avoid. Marisa was fast, even in the sand, and she reached the outskirts of Osa without losing Mortar. Just in time, she saw him slip into an old pub that was as battered and disfigured as the rest of the buildings in town.

The door of the pub already hung open, and Mortar tried closing it after stepping inside. It was truly broken, and refused to shut after multiple attempts. Eventually, Mortar gave up and disappeared inside. Marisa hurried after him and quickly reached the outsidewall. She eased her back to it, stood near the door, and listened.

"…clear evening, actually, Mortar. Made flying much more pleasant."

"Pleased to hear it," came Mortar's voice. For this meeting, he spoke with much more gravel and growl than he had at the last.

"You ought to be." The second voice was smooth, and the owner—male—could have been have been a diplomat or a well-spoken noble.

"How do you mean?"

"Had I been late, would you have _enjoyed_ waiting here in this ghost town?"

"I don't suppose I would care," Mortar said.

"Quite right." Marisa heard something _thunk_ on what sounded like solid wood. "See, this wine is aged perfectly, but there's not a pint of even the stalest beer to be found anywhere in town. Do you question the tastes of my men?"

There was a pause. It seemed Mortar had no answer.

The smooth voice rose again. "Lighten up." Another _thunk_. "Do have a sip, Mortar, you must be utterly _parched_."

"No, thank you."

"Fine, fine."

There was another stretch of silence; Mortar's partner appeared to be enjoying the wine himself.

"Now, to business, I suspect. Quickly, since you should not allow yourself to be missed back at the camp."

"We've finalized plans for the attack on your headquarters," Mortar said. "The pattern matches what we've previously discussed, albeit with one small deviation. The King ordered the formation of a smaller, divisionary force in order to misdirect an awaiting ambush."

"The Kinglette shows _caution_? How unexpected, for a young man who once overtly indulged himself in various games of chance. Yet…" He paused, perhaps taking another sip. "This changes nothing. A small adjustment. The diversionary force will be ignored, then routed once the main battle is won. Though the Kinglette must remain within the main force."

"I'll see to it," Mortar said.

There was another bout of silence, during which Marisa considered her options. This was clear and obvious treachery; Mortar was in league with who she thought—almost certainly—was the leader of the entire bandit rebellion. And that man was just inside, drinking wine, his guard undoubtedly down.

The safe decision would be to return to camp, inform Joshua of the treachery immediately, and arrest an unsuspecting Mortar. They could then reorganize their strategy in attacking the bandit headquarters, and face what would most likely be a long, bloody battle. Yet, here Marisa was presented with a chance to kill or capture the leader himself. By rushing inside, she could quickly kill Mortar then face the leader one-on-one.

It was a choice opportunity. Without their leader, the battle at Hamill Canyon would be much more easily won, with the League of Thieves undoubtedly in disarray. Marisa was also confident that she could handle both men in a surprise attack. More than confident. Apart from Joshua, she hadn't met a man since the War of the Stones that could match her blade.

Inside, the two men had continued conversation, but Marisa had heard enough. No greater chance than this to make up for her earlier failure would present itself.

Without another thought, Marisa swept open the door, and crossed the threshold in one motion. She had only a second or two to identify Mortar and kill him. He sat with his back to the door, only seven or eight long strides away. The second man saw her first and shouted a warning.

Too late. Mortar stood up and turned just in time to receive the end of Marisa's blade—directly in the heart. Mouth open, his left eye twitched, and his body went limp. He fell, upending the table as he crashed down.

Marisa faced the second man, who sat back on the counter. He wore gray myrmidon's robes, black boots, a thin leather belt and a scabbard. His hair was short and blonde, and his face was clean-shaven. In his right hand he held the wine bottle, which he set down as his eyes found Marisa's own. They were a light blue—open, but carrying a cool fierceness. The man was thin, but well proportioned, and admittedly handsome.

He smiled.

"Marisa, the Crimson Flash," he said. "And you do strike in a flash, don't you?" Casually, he surveyed Mortar's corpse. "I'm already convinced that you've earned you title."

Marisa raised her weapon. The man again took up the wine.

"My name is Silvanious," he said, "founder of the League of Thieves." The smile fell. "But I don't suppose you care."

Marisa nodded. "Enough talk. I came here to kill you."

Silvanious shrugged, and rose the bottle to his lips. Marisa lunged, and slashed up at his throat. The bottle shattered under Marisa's blade; she shielded her face as the liquid flew and shards scattered, peppering her front and the countertop. Once the explosion had settled, Silvanious was gone.

Not gone—just behind the counter. Ever reckless, Marisa leaped unto the counter and looked toward the floor. Bellow her, Silvanious was on his back, his torso spattered with wine. He grinned. Marisa dropped down and stabbed at him, but Silvanious rolled up and somersaulted backward. Her blade hit the floor, and by the time she righted it, Silvanious was on his feet, sword drawn.

They faced each other behind the counter.

"You move like a street dancer," she said.

"Not much use for men in that profession, I'm afraid."

Marisa pressed him. Silvanious matched her stroke for stroke, never losing ground, though Marisa became unnerved. She felt cramped behind the counter, unable to utilize all of her best, open maneuvers, but Silvanious seemed unaffected. Marisa feigned a slash to the right; it drew enough of a reaction, and she had ample time to heave herself over and out into open space.

Next, they fought over the counter. Again, Marisa was at a disadvantage. Silvanious had more length, and she needed to lean more precariously to get in a good, solid strike. It was a waste of time, and after losing a lock of hair to the end of Silvanious's blade, she drew back.

Silvanious seemed unfazed. "Come now, Marisa, you can't kill me from all the way over there."

The smugness drove her on. The counter was his advantage, so she would create her own. Marisa hooked the back of a chair with her sword and thrust it hard toward Silvanious. He ducked, and the chair crashed into the line of bottles on the wall behind him. Quickly, Silvanious scrambled up and dove over the counter, just avoiding the avalanche of liquor and glass.

Marisa was a beat late, allowing Silvanious time to slide under the closest table and take cover. And, before she could decide on how to handle his new position, Silvanious rose up and pitched the table at her. She backpedaled, dodging, and Silvanious was there, on his feet again. The duel resumed.

Yet there was something in the man's style that kept her guessing—it was a looseness or finesse that made even Joshua's strokes seem unrefined. And with each of her own strokes, with her every parry, Marisa hesitated just long enough. She was losing, and at this rate, she was going to die.

The thought was enough. All at once, Marisa lost her focus completely; in one stroke, Silvanious sent the sword spinning out of her hand. With the fury of the duel dissipated, silence crept back into the room. Silvanious held his blade at Marisa's throat. She stood still.

The quiet was broken by a single bottle, which had survived its fall from the counter, and was rolling toward Silvanious's feet.

"Why are you waiting," Marisa said.

Silvanious shook his head. He stooped for a moment, and with his free hand, he grasped the rolling bottle.

"Have a drink."

He stepped to Marisa and broke the bottle over her head. Marisa heard the impact—felt it—but dropped, and remembered nothing more.


	10. Luck

_Joshua had heard the stories, of meeting old friends on the battlefield. It wasn't uncommon for acquainted mercenaries to cross blades; a common sellsword couldn't afford to be picky, and those that earned a reputation for being soft soon found themselves without work. Employers weren't about to risk there gold on men they couldn't count on one hundred percent, and this was common knowledge. Friends fighting friends made for good tales at the bar, and Joshua was as familiar with them as any man alive._

_The one thing about them was that they never ended well. Compared to a comrade, close or otherwise, killing a faceless enemy was easy. Painless._

_Fortunately for Joshua, this old friend was a man he had grown to hate—in small and recent time, to be sure, but the passion was genuine. This was Lady Luck. After dispatching Carlyle, this was just the next step. By killing Caellach, he would finally put to rest his old, irresponsible life as a meandering mercenary that forever shunned responsibility._

_They were already through exchanging words. Caellach had admitted to killing Joshua's mother in cold blood—as if Joshua needed any more motivation. Their past partnership gave no advantage to either side. Assuming also that they had strengthened their skills at a similar rate, which Joshua didn't doubt—despite Caellach's boasting to the contrary—they were essentially back to square one. It was a return to Power vs. Finesse._

_Compared to a normal man, Caellach was by no means slow. In fact, Joshua recalled that he often used his surprising quickness to his advantage. Naturally, Joshua would not be fooled, but Caellach knew all his old tricks just as well. This meant that both fighters would borrow heavily from each of their most newly refined techniques. That said, unless it went under heavy refinement, a man's core fighting style wouldn't change. Despite all his ambition, Joshua knew that Caellach had kept his style. As his old friend surged at him, by the angle he kept his axe cocked, Joshua's suspicions were immediately confirmed._

_Meeting the face of an axe head on with a blade as thin as Joshua's was unwise, especially with the force Caellach put behind each blow, which meant dodging with the body. Patience was the game, though only to a point. The openings would come, but Caellach had not become a general of Grado by making them readily apparent. Evasion took energy, too, and the two would tire at about the same rate. Joshua knew Caellach to be a ball of stamina, so if he waited too long, he'd be rewarded with an axe in the chest._

_It came down to first blood. Any hit by Caellach would be crippling, but one from Joshua would take its toll, too, though more slowly._

_A duel in the sand always felt so fluid. Joshua's swordplay was as smooth and limber as ever, but the desert made for a truly grueling, unique experience. Both men slid with the dunes, lifting and gliding boots while making minimalist footwork. Joshua kept his focus on Caellach's lower chest. His blows and parries started and ended from there. He watched and reacted. Any minute, any second, Caellach would hesitate. The supreme confidence in his offensive would sputter for just a flash and Joshua would strike._

_He hoped it would come soon—the heat was uncanny. His robes were rich with sweat, and his grip was at risk. Yet Caellach showed not sign of slowing. Joshua had to bear down and grind it out. Keep focused, and force Caellach to make the first mistake._

###

Five months ago, Joshua considered himself lucky to simply survive the War of the Stones. Yes, his mother had died as a result, but he didn't blame luck for that. It was his fault for abandoning her, and he promised to make it up to her by leading Jehanna into an unparalleled age of prosperity. Yet as luck would have it, his reign had not begun well, and it seemed to be continuing that downward path. The bandit uprising was one thing, but inexplicably losing Marisa and one of his top commanders overnight was a blow.

Joshua stood outside his tent, arms folded. It was early morning, and camp was busy with packing and preparation. The droves of men around him broke down tents, served breakfast, and consolidated extra equipment. Joshua didn't feel like helping. What he wanted to do was stab something, but he couldn't afford to let his feelings show. Morale was already low. News of disappearances had spread, with rumors abound. Some of Joshua's men were investigating the situation, but he hadn't heard anything new.

Though, as if on cue, Commander Mostak appeared at his side. The man's typical brisk, no-nonsense stride had the look of a limp, now, as the mercenary commander looked as tuckered as Joshua felt. Neither of them had slept for most of the night, and without Mortar, the number of duties had sharply increased. On top of everything, Mostak was also overseeing the investigation into the disappearances. Hopefully, he had some information.

"Your Highness," Mostak said. "We've received someone claiming to be an envoy representing the League of Thieves."

Because he was already in a bad mood, and because this news had nothing to do with Marisa's whereabouts, Joshua snapped at Mostak.

"An 'envoy,' is it? I thought envoys were reserved for legitimate _states_, not a rabble of louse-ridden brigands."

Mostak was unfazed. "They've issued a request, and wish to discuss the location and… welfare of the Lieutenant General and Captain of the Royal Guard."

Joshua strained to keep himself civil. So it appeared the bandits _were_ involved with this debacle, unless they were bluffing, but the damn situation made no sense. How had they gotten ahold of Mortar and Marisa? If the bandits had successfully infiltrated camp, why those two? It would make much more sense for them to target Joshua himself. What had _happened_ last night?

The only way to figure it out would be to meet with this "envoy."

"How big is their group?" Joshua asked.

"Five men," Mostak said.

"Tell four of the Royal Guard that they'll act as my escort. Make sure they're fit."

"Yes, Your Highness."

With the escort armed and gathered, Joshua met them at the outskirts of camp. The bandits waited for them just outside of Osa. Joshua and his men made no conversation as the marched out to meet them. The League of Thieves had sent four of the normal axe-wielding brutes, and one thinner man dressed in myrmidon's robes. As Joshua's group drew close, it was the thin man who spoke.

"That's close enough, Your Highness."

Joshua stopped and signaled his escort to halt behind him.

"I am Silvanious," the man said. "Founder of the League of Thieves." He offered Joshua a small, sweeping bow.

So this was their leader. Joshua could see it—he certainly appeared confident and charismatic enough. Moreso even than Joshua would have expected.

"You know where my two officers are," Joshua said.

"I do," Silvanious said. "Alas, one of them is dead."

Fear exploded in Joshua's stomach and iced his veins. One of the men behind Silvanious hefted a corpse and tossed it into view—Mortar's corpse. Joshua pitied the man, but his heart began to slow. Marisa still lived.

Silvanious was smiling. "You seem relieved, Your Highness. Not that I can blame you. Compared to this old lump, I'd also much prefer the pretty face of the Crimson Flash."

"Where is she?"

"Osa," Silvanious said. "Awaiting rescues. But ah ah ah! You move now, and she dies. Instead, I offer you a proposition."

"I'll hear it."

"I challenge you to a duel, here and now. Just one on one. You win, Marisa goes free. You lose… well, if you lose, you die. Simple enough, I think."

"And if I refuse?" Joshua said. He hated having to go through these ridiculous motions, but they seemed to please Silvanious. Anyway, it wasn't a choice. This was Marisa's life, and he needed as many angles as could be explored.

"If you refuse," Silvanious said, "my and men and I will leave, and our forces will clash at Hamill Canyon."

"And Marisa?"

"You may find her corpse there if you search long and hard. Hopefully before the _rats_ have made it a meal, though I doubt that would take very long."

"You do that," Joshua said, "and any mercy I may have showed you or your men before disappears. Like sand in the wind."

Silvanious laughed. "I don't doubt it. But then, I wasn't expecting any to begin with. So, what do you say? You can decide this conflict now in a dignified fashion, or risk the lives of your people in the upcoming battle and never see your woman again."

Joshua needed to keep his emotions in check. It was clear which choice Silvanious _wanted_ him to make, but it was odd. By now, Joshua's swordplay was a thing of legend. Marisa and Gerik were at his level, but both were exceptional, and Joshua had seen neither of them matched. Yet this man wanted to risk everything in a one-on-one duel. He was confident, yes, but he also seemed reasonably intelligent. And unless Silvanious was sure he could beat him, why would he goad Joshua into a duel?

But Joshua was confident, too. And this was a chance to not only take the head off the beast, but to save Marisa, as well. Joshua knew the deal was _meant_ to be appealing.

Above all else, it was a gamble, and Joshua did love to try his luck.

###

Before long, Gerik knew he was sunk. As the servant girl lead him toward the barracks to find a wyvern rider, about one of every three guards they passed eyed him as a rabbit eyed a wolf. Further along, they began to abandon their posts completely and follow Gerik at a small distance. They were hardly discreet, and the servant girl caught on just as fast. But she kept pace, with no real reason to stop until she and Gerik found the hall blocked by Sir Miles and an escort of a half-dozen armed guards. With the others trailing, there was no escape.

"You may go," Miles said to the servant girl. She nodded and hurried off, clearly upset.

Gerik realized she had not set him up. He had simply done too much sneaking around, and Miles had been forced to make his move. How much of Jehanna Hall did he have under his thumb? Surely there were a number of men loyal to Joshua that would recognize this as an abuse of power.

"This is treason," Gerik said. "The King ordered me to stay here and assist with the welfare and defense of the Hall."

"The king is dead," Miles said, "or soon will be. In that scenario, _I_ become regent of Jehanna."

"Without any true confirmation, you can't—"

"Furthermore," Miles said, "King Joshua ordered you here not to defend the Hall, but in reality, to spy on me." He shrugged. "Little good it did him."

"Jehanna will suffer for this insurrection," Gerik said. "You're a fool and a coward."

Miles ignored him. Lazily, he motioned for the guards. "To the dungeon," he said. "I am not the kind of man who undervalues a good hostage."

The guards moved in around Gerik, showing no hesitation. With so many men, it would be pointless to resist. Hostage or no, however, Gerik knew it was a mistake for Miles not to kill him outright. At least with the dungeon there was a chance to escape.

As the guards seized him and marched him off, Gerik's only regret was that there would be no feasible way to warn Joshua.


	11. Choice

_Joshua knew the taste of exhaustion. Caellach had worked him down to the bone, and was on the verge of powdering that, too. They both knew it, and while Caellach could only be nearly as tired, there was something to the conceit in his face—his eyes, his smile—that told Joshua his mother's killer had saved just a little extra. This should have scared him, but suddenly Joshua's focus sharpened. He couldn't wait for Caellach to slip._

_He had to take the offensive. He had to attack, and be creative about it. Fortunately, Joshua had relied until now on all the patterns he'd mastered, but the time for tired old tactics was over and done. There was still room at the top of his game, and despite his weariness, he could still move with enough to speed to pull it off. Caellach would be expecting something, but Joshua hoped he wasn't expecting enough._

_And that was it—Joshua had his strategy._

_Blow by blow, Joshua allowed his defense to weaken. He swung slower, and his footwork became sloppier. Then… he lashed out. He surged at Caellach, attacking quick and fierce. Caellach kept up, but Joshua still relied on the same attack patterns from before. This alone, though, wouldn't be enough. Simply slowing down and feigning weakness wouldn't be enough to catch Caellach off guard; Joshua needed that little something extra. With this attack, Joshua had to convince Caellach that this was his final spurt of energy and his last ditch effort._

_The only problem is that it might really _be_ his last spurt of energy. Joshua had to keep his offense going for long enough to convince Caellach that it was real, but how could he really maintain it? The conceit in Caellach's face never left, and as his "final" pattern faded, Joshua allowed himself to stumble. He gasped for breath and screwed his face into a mask of defeat. Likewise, a hungry flash of victory crossed Caellach's features. He raised his axe to begin a longer, drawn out finishing attack._

_Joshua yelled. He couldn't remember what—maybe it was more like a snarl—but the sand bellow him felt like something molten and sizzling, and his entire body burned. His sword swept up and under the axe blade. The two blades locked, and Joshua heaved back on his end. Initial surprise fading, Ceallach did the same._

_Both weapons released at the same time and flew up and over Joshua's head. The two men spent a sliver of a second recognizing what had happened, then began a mad dash. Joshua was closer, but he had to spin around first. Caellach nearly caught him then—Joshua could hear his haggard breaths even over his own—but he poured on the last of his strength and lumbered across the sand. Caellach tried to grab him, using both arms in a crushing bear hug, but he missed. He tripped, and his momentum carried him down, face-first into the sand._

_Joshua reached the weapons, only to hear a whistling behind him. He turned, and jerked aside._

_Caellach's throwing axe—his Tomahawk. Joshua had forgotten all about it. Still, he'd avoided the brunt of the attack on reflex alone, though the blade had sliced a deep gashed in the side of his upper chest. No use worrying now. Having ultimately failed with his projectile, Caellach crawled toward Joshua like a mad bear, approaching with surprising speed._

_Joshua drew his sword from the sand, turned, and stabbed down. The blade slid easily into Caellach's throat. He peered up at Joshua, lips wet with spittle and blood. Joshua drew the sword back. Before fully collapsing, Caellach choked out his dying words._

"_Bla… blast. A bit more, and… a crown… would have been… mine."_

###

The words were on the tip of Joshua's tongue, but there they stalled. Silvanious watched him, trying keep to his face straight in feigned neutrality, but that didn't matter. Again, Joshua knew what Silvanious wanted. Why extend the offer, then? Silvanious could simply kill Marisa, and that alone would be a heavy enough blow in terms of morale. So the man thought he could win, thought he could beat Joshua, one of the most celebrated swordsman ever birthed in a kingdom that had been littered with skilled mercenaries for centuries.

Joshua couldn't shake his concerns—most noticeably, Silvanious's confidence. Accepting the duel was playing to the man's obvious strength. He could be a prodigy. In fact, it was likely he captured Marisa himself. But this man also had no compassion, and by refusing him, Joshua would lose her. He could…

Could stop thinking like a fool. Silvanious was a liar, and a cunning one at that. He'd told Joshua that Marisa was still in Osa, but why would she be? Suppose Joshua had brought a larger escort—upon learning Marisa's location, he could have ordered his men to overrun the opposing "envoy" and begin searching Osa. The situation offered Silvanious no advantages, and the more he considered it, the more Joshua was certain that Marisa had been taken to Hamill Canyon. Why leave such a valuable hostage in so vulnerable a location?

Yet the reality was, should Joshua refuse, Marisa was still likely to die. And damn _that_. With Gerik marrying Tethys, Joshua would hardly see him. His old mercenary friends were long gone, and his comrades from the war lived scattered across Magvel. But who aside from them? There was no one else who dared approach him as an equal. With Marisa gone, was he doomed to spend the rest of his days as king alone and reclusive? That idiot. What had she done to get herself caught up in this? Joshua knew her to have more discipline than anyone he'd ever met, but since the fight in Osa, she'd carried a kind of sulking weight. As if she'd failed—failed _him_.

If only he'd talked with her that night. What had she _done_?

And then the idea came.

"I accept your duel," Joshua said, "on one condition."

Silvanious looked incredulous. "A condition?"

"That's right. You tell me what happened last night between you and Marisa—the truth—and I'll duel you to the death."

"That's quite the request," Silvanious said. "But how are you so certain I was directly involved?"

"I don't have to answer that."

"I'm afraid to say, my King, that you are mistaken. Would you like the real story?" Silvanious smiled. "Sometime after your men cleared Osa out, I sent a group of scouts on dragonback to check the damage and monitor your forces. Perhaps the Crimson Flash saw their approach from your camp, and she went to investigate. When my men found her sneaking around Osa, only this man was with her." Silvanious gestured at Mortar's corpse.

Joshua shook his head. "You're lying."

"Am I?"

"You mean to say," Joshua said, "that you don't know the identity of the man you killed? He was a general, and my second in commander. Not exactly the kind of man who would go off with Marisa and sneak around, playing the rogue. But you knew who he was, and you thought I wouldn't catch you on it."

Silvanious said nothing.

"Meaning," Joshua continued, "you failed to satisfy my condition. That's fine, though, because I'm going to give you another chance. What really happened?"

"This quibbling has become dull," Silvanious said. "You've no leverage, no cards to play. This is your final chance, or your lovely Marisa dies. Accept my duel: yes or no."

Joshua had not expected Silvanious to turn the table so quickly. Now he was left with just the bitter choice. The gamble. One match—win the war, or die and bring Jehanna crumbling down with him. Miles would become regent. Chaos would rule.

His mother had trusted him to make the right choice. Her deviant, gambling, runaway son. He'd promised to look after everything she'd strive to build and maintain—the love of the people, and the welfare of Jehanna. Dammit, Marisa. He couldn't.

"No deal," Joshua said. "Now take your men and get out of here."

For a second, Silvanious wore a viperous look, as though he would drop all pretenses, draw his sword, and lash at Joshua. But it came to nothing. The look fell and Silvanious shrugged. He turned away without another word and led his men back toward Osa. Joshua watched him for a moment, then motioned for his own men to return to camp.

Slowly, Marisa's fate carved blankness in his mind. For the slow trudge back, Joshua's thoughts became disjointed slivers. Was this the reality his mother had faced? Husband dead, son gone, now this—an entire kingdom of subjects, but oh what a loneliness.

###

Joshua realized that he could hardly afford any time to dwell on Marisa. When he and his escort returned, camp was in pieces; the men had packed up, and his army was nearly ready to march. Joshua had to refocus, and while the shift wasn't seamless, he was able to ease himself back into his duties. He still thought about Marisa, and felt tight in his chest, but it only happened when he had time to catch his breath.

Once the preparations were complete, Joshua ordered his men to march. He fell into place at the rear, and began to brace himself for long, hard day. He expected it to be harsh; there was still the lingering soreness from the fight in Osa, and with nothing to preoccupy him beyond putting one foot in front of the other, he knew exactly where his mind would begin to stray.

Mercifully, Commander Mostak appeared at his side.

"Your Highness," he said. "We've just received two messengers, almost simultaneously."

"From separate locations?"

"Yes. The first comes directly from Jehanna Hall, and the second has word from the Rausten border guard."

What could these reports contain? The message from the Hall could easily be from Gerik, whom Joshua instructed to alert him if Miles began acting unruly. Further, the Rausten border guard was stationed not far from Hamill Canyon.

"I'll see them both," Joshua said. "Separately."

Mostak nodded and turned away. With a brisk pace, he headed back through the ranks and toward the edge of the formation. In that direction, Joshua spotted two wyverns, without their riders, lumbering alongside the march.

Quickly, the first messenger appeared. He was young, wiry, and slight.

"Word from Jehanna Hall, Your Highness," he said.

"Go on."

"I was… asked by a servant girl to contact you. She claims to have the blessing of Sir Gerik, as he could not send the message himself."

Joshua tilted his head. "Why not?"

"He's been imprisoned, sir. That is part of the message. The other part dictates that Sir Gerik found this servant girl in order to locate a wyvern rider capable of taking a message, though he was stopped on his way by Sir Miles and a number of guards."

"The guards take his orders?"

"Some, sir. I believe many of the rest are not aware Sir Miles has acted out of turn and remain ignorant."

"Has no one tried to raise word?" Joshua said—he could feel his hands almost shaking. This _treachery_.

"I would myself, Your Highness, but I only nearly escaped the Hall. I was lucky to avoid the archers, as there were nearly half a dozen. Should I return…"

"I won't send you to die," Joshua said. "Is that everything?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Thank you." Joshua smiled. "It is due to your courage and valor that I'm now aware of this insurrection. You've done well."

The messenger flushed. "Y-you honor me deeply, Your Highness. And—and I am certain that there are many others, like me, who remain stationed at the Hall and have not so quickly forgotten their King. The duplicitous Sir Miles will surely be ousted!"

"I appreciate our optimism. Now, I'd ask that you and your wyvern join in this march. Speak to Commander Mostak, and he'll find a place for you."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Also, please send for the next messenger."

The young man bowed and hurried off. Alone now, Joshua felt the smiling confidence drain from his face. He was still capable of faking a grin, at least.

Before long, the next messenger appeared. He was older and more grizzled. This one was a real veteran, by the look of him.

"Your Highness," he began. "News from the Rausten border guard."

"I'll hear it."

"Very late yesterday evening, we caught word that Princess L'Arachel recently became aware of the situation involving League of Thieves. She petitioned her uncle, the Devine Emperor, to send soldiers in aid, but he steadfastly refused. Princess L'Arachel has since fled the castle with an escort of but two men. Her uncle entrusted his spies to ghost her movements, but we are told she has disappeared. The spies, at least, have lost her."

"Can we guess at her motive?" Joshua said.

"_You_ may, Your Highness. We heard nothing regarding it, so it would be by your speculation alone."

Joshua almost smiled again. "I have a hunch or two."


	12. Debt

"Gwah ha ha! It is a most splendid day, isn't it, Princess L'Arachel!"

"It truly is, Dozla. Your subtle skills of observation have yet to abandon you, despite so many blessed years serving me!"

"Subtle skills? Are we thinking of the same person?"

"Hush, Rennac. I'll not have your poisonous negativity taint this fine outing!"

"As you say. I could think of nothing finer than bumbling straight into a bandit stronghold with no plan and no preparation."

"That is where you're quite mistaken, Rennac! So long as I ride beside you, we shall receive, as always, a special brand of divine guidance! We've absolutely nothing to fear!"

"Gwah ha ha! Of course, Princess! Today, my axe shines with a divine light! Not even twenty and one brigands could hope to stop me!"

"Lunacy…"

Just a few miles beyond the border of Rausten, the plant life began to thin. The transition to the great deserts of Jehanna and dry climate was immediate; already, the grass seemed shorter and browner. It had been hours since they'd passed a stream—or a seen a tree, for that matter. And Hamill Canyon loomed in the distance—tall faces of rock, cut and carved into being by an ancient river that no longer flowed.

There was, as Rennac knew, one last source of water before they reached the canyon. It was marked on every map, and a common area of rest. There, Princess L'Arachel would allow her horse to drink and—in all likelihood—she and Dozla would become distracted. Rennac would use the opportunity to steal away. He was not looking to die today, and his two comrades showed every intention of charging into the bandit headquarters with fatally reckless abandon.

Rennac had given up trying to separate himself from L'Arachel completely, as—somehow—he never succeeded, but that didn't mean he had to adhere to their painfully stupid tactics. Being a bit of a thief himself—while Rennac had never interacted directly with those comprising the League of Thieves—he was in touch with the mindset. There was always a back way, and he knew the headquarters spanned several caves tucked away in the rock. Distancing himself from the impending rabble, Rennac could explore the caves and passages at his leisure, and in a way that would attract little attention.

If he came across the bandits one by one, he was certain he could kill them quickly and efficiently. Perhaps, even, he could find their leader. It was a possibility that he could catch him unprepared, as Dozla and the Princess would be causing quite a distracting ruckus.

It was a fine plan. Additionally, should the League of Thieves be hording any treasure, it would be his for the taking. A bandit uprising had to funded somehow, didn't it? That was Rennac's thought, and it was enough for him to keep is sanity as his two comrades prattled on with unfaltering zeal.

###

The dungeon of Jehanna Hall was becoming a rather populous destination. Try as he might to keep his usurpation quiet, news of Miles's insurrection still spread, and those who showed even the smallest sign of mounting a resistance were immediately incarcerated. Each day, Gerik watched them pour in by the dozen. Soon, meals became a large occasion. An entire garrison of guards took several trips down and up the long, winding stairs, bearing heavy trays and plates of rations.

Gerik was worried Miles would just start killing them. Luckily, that hadn't happened. Gerik thought that details of such unprovoked slaughter really could start a full-scale uprising, so it wasn't entirely surprising. Regardless, a full-scale uprising _was_ the ultimate goal. Gerik spoke with every prisoner he could. Those down and without spirit, he tried to inspire; those feeling fiery and mutinous, he set to spread the word and fan the rebellious flame.

He tried speaking with the dungeon guards, as well, but with limited success. Miles was proving to be at least a capable foe—perhaps expecting part of Gerik's actions, he seemed to pick guards that were firmly under his thumb. They rarely responded to Gerik's attempts at conversation beyond a gruff warning or threat.

Gerik expected Tethys to show up at some time, and she did not disappoint. News of what happened at Jehanna Hall would not be widely known, but certain circles would become fully aware. He and Tethys shared a wide range of contacts, and he knew it wouldn't take long for her to catch wind of his fate.

Gerik knew that Tethys could only appear very late at night—if at all—and he adjusted his sleep schedule accordingly. It took less than a week for her to finally appear. She wore a discrete brown cloak, her hair tied back and hidden. She looked very much the rogue.

The closest guard had just left his post, and his replacement would be arriving soon. There wasn't much time. Still, the exchanged a quick kiss between the bars. Then she slipped him a key.

"We're not ready yet," Gerik said, adopting a whisper.

"I thought not."

"But we're close. Now that I have this, we can really get organized. Thank you."

Tethys smiled. "It's dangerous work. I thought that after the war—"

"Sorry. I knew you could pull it off, though."

"Easy to say, after the fact."

"Sure it is," Gerik said. "Now go, and stay safe. This place is going to become a war zone, and I want you to keep well clear."

"All right, Chief. You stay safe, too."

Another kiss, and she was gone—up the stairs, and out of sight.

###

Perhaps Rennac had overestimated the League of Thieves. He had easily succeeded in separating himself from Dozla and the Princess, and found his clandestine way into a likely looking cave. And indeed, not twenty feet in, he found the first torch, tall and ablaze. From then on, he crept slower, and kept toward the walls. Deeper along the passage, two bandits ran right past him. Then another. Then three more. So far, this process of infiltration proved even less challenging than expected.

In his mind, he could hear Princess L'Arachel's piercing voice—one that rang with girlish bravado, and called for the brigands to reveal themselves and fight her face-to-face. Rennac even caught part of a conversation between the group of three as they barreled past.

"—the boss? What's he want us to do?"

"It's not the king's army."

"Don't matter. We kill 'em anyhow."

Eventually, the passage forked. To the right, the way was broader and taller, and looked to be a continuation of the main passage. Rennac chose left, and just as he did, someone emerged from the semi-darkness. He was short and stocky, with a scar on his nose and on course to bump directly into Rennac.

He didn't. Rennac slipped to the side, and the bandit fell over his outstretched leg.

"What? Who's—"

"Shh."

Rennac unsheathed his sword and struck the bandit between the eyes.

"Except now they'll know I'm here. Still…"

Rennac grabbed the corpse by the arm and dragged it more toward the right side of the fork. With one last heave, he sent it rolling a short ways down the broader passage.

"No need to help them discern which way I went. Now then."

Rennac crept back toward the left passage and made his way deeper. This smaller, narrower route was more likely to lead where he wanted—rather than the stronghold of the headquarters, it would end at a small side chamber where gold or supplies were kept.

Or a prisoner.

Rennac heard the group before he saw them. He hid at the edge of the chamber and peered in. The room was fifteen feet across and circular; two long torches hung above a woman bound in chains. Three bandits—each larger than the one he'd tripped—stood near her.

With a start, Rennac realized that the woman was Marisa, the Crimson Flash. Despite a rather haggard look—dirty face, torn clothes—the hair was unmistakable. This _was_ treasure, in a matter of speaking. Rennac knew that King Joshua had hired Marisa as a direct and personal aide, and to have a _king_ in his debt… well. King Jehanna was sure to be more generous than his current employer; this was true almost by default. Princess L'Arachel was always so stingy, despite being royalty herself.

One of the bandits had just unchained Marisa's legs, and Rennac had a sneaking suspicion as to what they were up to—meaning, he had to act now. Just as Marisa smashed one brigand in the face with her foot, Rennac darted out from his cover. The brigand she'd kicked staggered back, clutching his nose, and Rennac drove his sword through the back of his neck.

The remaining bandits shouted and turned to face this new threat. Before the second could raise his axe, Rennac was on him, thrusting his blade through the man's heart. Then he spun around to face his last foe. The third bandit was backing away, out of the torchlight.

"You're pretty fast, ain'tcha."

Rennac said nothing. He stayed facing the bandit, sword raised. If this man wanted to escape, he'd have to cross Rennac's blade before reaching the chamber's exit. Soon, though, the bandit reemerged from shadows. Now, there was something odd about him. His eyes seemed different—larger and redder.

"Careful," Marisa said.

"Hm?"

"Cacti Morali."

"Is that code for something?"

"A drug. It makes men go berserk."

"Wonderful."

The bandit charged, howling with a raw and throaty scream. He came fast, and Rennac sidestepped from his path. The bandit pivoted and altered his direction with a deft swerve. He swung his axe, and Rennac dodged back, almost losing his footing. The bandit swung again; Rennac ducked and swept his sword low. With a grunt, the bandit leaped above the blade and brought his axe down toward Rennac's head.

Rennac rolled to the left, but nearly collided with the chamber wall. The axe came again, and Rennac slid away. Right where his head had been, the axe blade sank into the wall—solid stone—which temporarily stalled the bandit. Rennac slashed at him; with his free arm, the bandit stopped and grabbed the blade with his bare hand. Eyes wide, Rennac yanked back his sword, sliding it from the bandit's grip and slicing open the man's palm. The bandit heaved his axe from the stone, and Rennac stepped back toward Marisa.

"This is insanity," he said.

"I warned you."

As the bandit charged again, Rennac felt something nudge his foot; it was the handle of an axe that had been dropped by one of the dead brigands. Rennac crouched down, took the axe with his left hand, and hurled it. With unholy reflexes, the bandit jerked his head to the side and the axe flew past him—but it wasn't enough. Rennac spun up and slashed him at the throat.

The bandit lost his axe and fell face first at Rennac's feet. Rennac shook his head, made to step away, but felt something on his leg. Gurgling—with blood dripping and spewing from mouth and throat—the bandit raised his head and closed one hand around Rennac's shin.

Rennac stabbed him through the back of the skull. Then he drew back his blade and stabbed him again.

The bandit stilled. Disgusted, Rennac kicked the bloody corpse away. He turned to Marisa.

"Your king now owes me a debt. A _large_ one."


	13. Flight

Traitors and villains. Joshua was sick of them both.

He couldn't remember being happier to see the sun set. Despite living in the desert all his life, there was something special about the sun and the sand today that had bothered him. The day's march had been a long one, as expected—his thoughts of Marisa, the insurrection, as well as the aches lay spattered across his body all contributed. He ought to oversee the rebuilding of camp, but he wasn't up to it. It was mostly for show, anyway. These men were seasoned professionals, for the most part, and for them the process was automatic. Let Mostak handle any of the problems.

Joshua was almost tired enough that he could fall asleep on his feet. He nearly did, in fact, but before long his tent was erected. The urge to immediately lie down was almost overwhelming, but he knew there was one bit of business left to deal with. With the mess that had developed between Mortar, Marisa, and Silvanious, Joshua knew he could no longer trust his previously devised strategy of storming the bandit stronghold at Hamill Canyon. While he seriously doubted Marisa would reveal their plans, even under torture, he was not so sure of Mortar's character. Miles had suggested him—that in itself was enough to raise suspicion.

Joshua chose to keep the troops ignorant of the happenings at Jehanna Hall until after they crushed the League of Thieves. This was to stabilize, morale as well as to keep in check those among the troops who may sympathize with Miles, or side with him. In any case, news of yet another approaching conflict on top of the one they already faced could hardly be appealing.

Mortar met Joshua soon after camp was established.

"You look tired, Your Highness."

"I don't just look it," Joshua said. He tried for a grin. "I think I can stay awake for long enough. Anyway, I'd rather you take the forefront tonight. Gerik tells me you spent some time fighting in the areas around Hamill before forming your own company nearer to the capital."

"That is true."

"Then I trust your judgment."

"Your Highness," Mostak said, "if you'll allow me to say—I'm certain you find it difficult to trust _anyone_ after recent events…"

Joshua shrugged. "It's a gamble, just like anything. I'd rather try for genuine loyalty than wind up friendless and paranoid. I suppose that makes me a bit of a fool, eh?"

"You've a stronger heart than mine, Your Highness. This way, then."

Joshua followed Commander Mostak away from his tent, doing his best to stifle a yawn.

The meeting seemed long to Joshua, but he thought that, in reality, it might have been quite brief. He knew the importance of giving input and focusing on the unfolding strategy, but the day had left him drained. Mostak did most of the talking. With Mortar dead and Marisa gone, there were new faces—Joshua was vaguely aware of these men, yet their names slipped in and out of his mind.

Eventually, the plan was decided. It was similar to first, though the key difference was the size of the "diversionary" force; instead of sending just a small group, the troops would evenly split—their size compared to the bandits made this possible. Whichever force encountered higher resistance, the more mobile units from either group could move to reinforce the other.

Joshua barely remembered the walk back to his tent. It was still early evening, and most of the men were still out, eating or chatting by the fires. Even with the noise, Joshua slept easily, and never stirred once before dawn.

###

"Your princess and her retainer are very loud."

"Are they? I hadn't noticed."

Given the circumstances, Rennac had abandoned stealth in favor of speed. He lead Marisa back through the caverns of the brigand's stronghold at a brisk pace. Fortunately, Marisa was in decent shape—likely, she hadn't been a captive long. All around them came the echo of the screaming bandits, only overpowered by the stronger voices of L'Aarachel and Dozla, screaming of divinity and justice. That meant, at least, they hadn't been killed. Not that Rennac was at all surprised.

Something was strange, though. This _was_ the bandit stronghold, yet… their numbers seemed small They'd run into just a single brigand—the one whose sword Marisa now carried—who'd come to investigate the room where Marisa had been held. Could it be that the League of Thieves simply lacked manpower? That didn't make sense. The reports made it sound as these men posed a legitimate threat to King Joshua's forces. They had this berserker's drug, yes, but with so few men…

Rennac brought himself to a sudden halt. Blocking the narrow passage were two brigands. One had a sword and the other looked to be a mage. The swordsman was a lithe fellow, and as Marisa swept toward him, he parried her attack. The blow was fierce, and the swordsman reeled toward the wall. Rennac looked away. The mage had opened his tome and began to chant. Hastily, Rennac sprinted at him, and slid to the ground feet first as a flash of flame passed over him. The fire was fierce, and Rennac felt the bite at his scalp as the end of his hair smoldered. For a second, he could smell the burn.

Then the soles of his boots pressed square into the mage's shins. The mage wavered and fell, spilling right on top of Rennac. Rennac tried to raise his sword, but the flat of the blade was caught under his body. He lurched left, rolling over and taking the mage with him, but lost the handle on his sword. As the mage struggled to shove him off, Rennac held him at bay with his right arm while his free hand groped at the ground for his sword. Failing that, he craned his neck to try and see where his weapon had skidded off to—just as he heard a shrill shout from across the cavern.

Marisa had pressed the bandit swordsman back against the rock wall, their blades locked. The swordsman was able to jerk away, but his elbow slammed against the closest torch. It loosed from its holder and fell, dousing as it bounced and clattered along the ground. Instantly, the passage blackened. The search for his sword lost, Rennac brought his left hand back at the mage. Rennac could see only the outline of his head, and the mage flailed at him as Rennac tried to find his throat. He took too long. With a burst of strength, the mage wrenched himself from under Rennac, and became lost in the darkness.

Blindly, Rennac rose and staggered after him, swinging his arms out into the black. Nothing. He turned and took another swing, finding just air. He tried to listen for the mage—footsteps or breathing—but the clatter of Marisa's tangle with the swordsman made that impossible. Finally, he heard a voice close by.

Chanting.

Impulse took over, and Rennac dropped hard to his stomach. Again, the blazing Elfire passed overhead, briefly illuminating the passage. Briefly, but for Rennac—whose eyes were as sharp as any man he knew—it was enough. He caught the gleam of his blade, as well as the upright figure of the mage. In an instant, Rennac was on his feet, bent slightly to grab his sword as he passed it. Three steps later, he slashed forward in a wide arc. He felt the resistance of the mage's flesh, and heard him shout in pain. Rennac swung his sword back around and thrust it, driving the point home. No scream this time, but he heard the man's body hit the ground.

After that, silence eased back into the cavern.

"Who lives?" Rennac asked into the darkness.

"Me."

A woman's voice. Rennac was glad. This was more fighting than he had done for months, and already he was beginning to tire of it. A good thief could be in and out before anyone was none the wiser, and resorted to face-to-face combat only rarely. Obviously, he'd fought this volume of men—and more—during the War of the Stones, but that was a special case. And not one he particularly enjoyed, either. Rennac comforted himself with thoughts of Jehnna's riches, and the reward he might receive from King Joshua for rescuing the Crimson Flash.

"Sheath your sword," Rennac said. "I won't have you poking my eye out in the darkness."

"They took my sheath."

Of course. Rennac shook his head. "Be cautious, then," he said. "Follow me, but not too close."

"You know the way?"

Rennac could have laughed. "This is my job. I've navigated harsher darkness and more difficult landscapes than this. I'll lead you to the next lit torch, and we'll be free of this cavern within five minutes, assuming we avoid anymore trouble."

"All right."

As they progressed, Rennac returned to his thoughts. That these caverns were so sparsely populated still made him wonder. Despite himself, he was becoming more interested in what was transpiring. Questions began to crop up in his mind, and he wondered just how loose a tongue the Crimson Flash had.

"Your King," Rennac said. "Is he nearby? Did he plan on rescuing you himself?"

"I don't know."

"I'm aware from reports in Rausten that he was planning to combat this League of Thieves directly, with both army men and a large mercenary force."

Marisa said nothing.

Rennac frowned. "Is he marching on this stronghold?"

There was no reply.

"As I mentioned," Rennac pressed, "your King now owes me a debt. I would like to know how best to reach him so that I may collect it."

"He was marching," Marisa said. "On pace to reach here soon."

"How soon?"

"Tomorrow. Or the day after."

"Very good, then."

Soon, the passage became well illuminated again, and the sound of fighting had magnified. The shouts of L'Arachel and Dozla had lost none of their zeal. With still no brigands to harry them, Rennac took the final section of the main passage at a sprint. Marisa kept up. As they stepped out from the cavern, the sunlight exploded down on them. Half blind, Rennac shaded his eyes and spotted L'arachel and Dozla about thirty feet off, engaged with a group of brigands.

Marisa wasted no time raising her sword and dashing on to join the fray. Reluctantly, Rennac followed.

"Ah, Rennac!" L'Aarachel shouted from atop her horse. She sent forth a shower of light magic that burst on impact and sent three of the closest bandits flying. "I see you've brought company!"

"Gwah ha ha!" Dozla guffawed as he swung his axe and chopped a brigand clean in half. "Princess, he's spent time with a lovely young lady while we've been out here doing battle!"

"You blundering dolt," Rennac said. "That's Marisa, the Crimson Flash. I rescued her from inside the stronghold."

"How valiant!" L'Arachel cried. "Dear Rennac, I do believe we've begun to rub off on you at last!"

"That's not it. I mean to claim a reward from King Joshua."

"Is that so?" L'Arachel brought down yet another bandit with a flash from her staff—this one had been running at Marisa's back. "Is it your desire to travel all the way to Jehanna Hall in order to collect it? Is the generous salary I provide you with not enough?"

"It's hardly adequate," Rennac said. A bandit had reached him as well, and he began to fend him off. "But that's not the point! King Joshua is marching on this place, and will be here within a day or two. We should retreat for now, and wait for his army to arrive."

"Retreat?" L'Arachel looked at him, puzzled.

"Yes! Retreat!" Rennac parried a wild axe blow, and cut the bandit across the chest. "With reinforcements arriving, we have no need to keep this up."

"He may be right, Princess," Dozla said. "Our justice may serve better on the morrow, with fresh limbs and spirit!"

"Very well." L'Arachel raised her voice. "Hear me, vile brigands! Do not believe that you are free from our justice! We shall strike again, and those who would rather flee than face our might will not be spared! I will scour all of Magvel and the great lands beyond before I allow you to escape your fate as divinely ordained!"

"Gwah ha ha! Very good, Princess!"

"Yes, excellent. Now may we turn tail? I find myself with quite a headache."


	14. Footing

Sir Miles recalled a saying he had once heard. He had been born a nobleman, and as such, he had been raised among noble people. His father had been high-ranking diplomat and oversaw the royal treasury, his mother a beautiful and obedient wife. Miles had no siblings, so he had built a rough friendship and strong boyhood rivalry with Carlyle, the son of his father's younger brother. When they were not amiable, they fought: over pride, strength, and—eventually—women. Before his death, Miles thought he knew Carlyle better than any man in Magvel.

Miles did not fool himself. The rivalry was often one-sided, and Miles had nearly consumed himself in it. Carlyle was sharper of wit and of word, and soon it became apparent that his physical abilities and skill with a blade could not be compared to those of the limp and sickly boy Miles had been. Carlyle had charisma and the strength to back it, and for his lovely queen, fought and won and many battles for Jehanna. Soon he became a renowned hero, and he retired to become the queen's close confidant, as well as the young prince's instructor in swordsmanship.

However, Miles always had one thing that Carlyle lacked—a sharp animal cunning, with the perception and willingness to act on his hunches and instincts. And while Carlyle had been off collecting his glory, Miles had stayed, building his image and securing invisible loyalties. He took over his father's work and counted coin for the throne, but he always stayed diligent behind the scenes. His spies kept him informed on the situation in Grado, and the moment Carlyle surrendered to them, Miles had all but disappeared.

Unlike most, Carlyle's decision to betray Jehanna and hand over the palace did not surprise Miles. He had watched Carlyle for so many years, had competed with him for women and honor—enough that Miles could see the ripening madness. His cousin's heart had always belonged to Ismaire, despite his typically casual claims to the contrary. Miles learned to read his face, as easily as a scholar might read a tome, and he could see the lust and agony whenever his cousin gazed upon the queen. When Carlyle taught her swordplay, his hands would so lightly linger on hers; as he beheld her, his eyes had shone with a hungry blaze.

That had been his downfall—that, and his idiocy when dealing with Grado. Carlyle's network of informants had been clearly worse than Miles's own, lest he would have been aware of the terminal risk in forming such a cheap alliance. And for a woman, no less. An intoxicatingly beautiful woman, to be sure, but…

Miles had been ready to place his claim to kingship after Carlyle's death, but that legitimacy was lost as soon as Joshua appeared. That revelation had set Miles back what could have been several years, but Joshua's new reign had proven to be a loose one. Where Joshua had seemed disinterested in ruling, Miles made every clandestine effort to unseat him in a way that would appear genuine. Once Joshua died, the throne was his. And Joshua _would_ die—sooner, rather than later.

_The throne is the finest seat to any man alive_. That was the saying. And sitting there now, Miles had to agree. It wouldn't be long before news of Joshua's death reached the palace, and when that happened, the crown was his by right. Even if he initially lost the palace to revolt, the army returning from Hamill Canyon would be his to command. Despite losses from a hard-fought battle, the numbers—along with the sellswords—would be overwhelming. He could take back Jehanna Hall easily.

Miles was certain of all of this. Yet…

There was no question that the throne was where Miles belonged—no longer _Sir_ Miles, but _King_ Miles—and that he did feel a fine man sitting upon it, but he could not shake a feeling of dread that sat in his stomach. Somewhere, he felt, he had made a miscalculation. Somewhere he had misread someone, had misinterpreted someone's motivation or antagonized the wrong individual. His plan was materializing just as devised, yet Miles could feel that he had overlooked just one maligned detail.

It was a feeling he had to shake. As a messenger entered the throne room, accompanied by a harried looking guardsman, Miles knew that the revolt had struck. Slightly earlier than anticipated, but that was not unexpected. He would not be caught off guard.

As Miles rose, he felt a lurch in his gut, and a chill shot up through his chest. For a second, he paused in mid-motion; the messenger and his guard stared up at him, momentarily bemused. Miles shook his head.

"I know your news," he said. "Follow me and hear your instructions."

But even as Miles spoke—even as he began to orchestrate the next phase necessary to secure the crown—he could not ignore it: the sudden feeling that this would be the last time he ever stood up from the throne of Jehanna.

_The throne is the finest seat to any man alive. _Alive. What use was anything to a dead man?

###

This day was worse than the last. Every step felt like it's own brand of punishment, and by midday, Joshua felt as irate as he'd ever been. They were within a day's march of Hamill Canyon, and when once the nearing opportunity to swing his sword would have excited Joshua, now the prospect only made him feel tired. Soon he would see hundreds of his men die around him, and once the battle was won—or lost—his fate was sealed. Dying was dying, but Joshua's thoughts had become increasingly morbid, and life as King only seemed like a way of dying slowly.

Joshua felt himself trip over his own boots, and he staggered. He may have fallen, but a strong arm reached out to steady him. Joshua looked up to see Commander Mostak, who had appeared at his side. A flush of embarrassment rose in Joshua's face; he found his feet and stood tall with what little dignity he could muster, then tried to keep his eyes from focusing on Mostak's face. Joshua didn't want to treat himself to the pitying look. This was not the kind of weakness a king showed—especially not a warrior king.

"Your Highness," Mostak said. "We have news."

"I'll hear it."

"Our scouts have discovered a small group encamped on the outer ridge of Hamill Canyon. They lie directly in our path."

"Is it the League of Thieves?"

Joshua thought Mostak could have been holding back a smile. "No, sir. There are four of them, and one has been identified as Princess L'Arachel of Rausten."

"Let me guess," Joshua said. "She is accompanied by a rogue looking man with brown hair and bearded brute with an enormous axe."

"As you say."

"Any word on the fourth?"

Mostak cleared his throat. "Miraculously… we believe it to be our captain of the Royal Guard—Marisa, the Crimson Flash."

Joshua stopped. "You _believe_?"

Mostak also stopped. "We are almost certain, Your Highness."

Seconds passed, and Joshua had to remember to breathe. The soreness in his legs and the fatigue in his heart were all but forgotten. Joshua could have bent over and kissed the sand, or raised up his arms and made a joyous shout to the sun. _Thank the Gods, and thank Lady Luck… _

"Take me to them."

"Yes, sir."

###

To reach the camp, Joshua was asked to ride a wyvern. Precariously, Joshua had little thought to spare on securing himself to the creature while they flew. The rider seemed to understand this and kept low to the ground, but Joshua hardly noticed. Despite keeping a brisk pace, Joshua's elation was only dampened by his own impatience. He had a hundred questions for her, and another dozen for L'Arachel, but they all spun and circled uselessly in his head. Marisa was back. Marisa was alive. His partner—his quiet, deadly, beautiful, and _alive_ partner.

Finally, the wyvern began to slow. Ignoring words from the rider, Joshua leaped from the saddle and landed hard, almost losing his balance. The sand had turned to dirt, and the outer ridge of Hamill Canyon loomed before him, a thousand feet tall or more. Nestled below, in the sprawling shade of the massive stone face, he saw the small camp. There was a single tarp, a fire pit, and one horse—Joshua recognized it as L'Arachel's. The horse had been lucky enough to survive the War of the Stones.

At the moment, Joshua was feeling pretty lucky himself.

Other wyverns landed behind him, and Joshua's guard began to form up. Joshua ignored them and went straight for the camp. Seconds later, he heard a squeal, and the figure of L'Arachel came bounding toward him. Dozla padded after her, dressed full in plate, just as he always was. L'Arachel leaped as she hugged him, and once again, Joshua nearly lost his footing. After the embrace, Joshua waved back his guards and surveyed his old companions.

"This is _such_ a pleasure!" L'Arachel was beaming, and her face was flushed—whether from the sun or her excitement, Joshua couldn't say.

"Gwah ha ha! Indeed, it is! We have not seen King Joshua since the war's end."

"Despite the fact that we are friends and neighbors," L'Arachel said.

Joshua smiled. "I'm afraid my duties have kept me busy. You are always be welcome at Jehanna Hall, if you'd ever like to visit."

"There is the small matter of the desert one must cross." This was Rennac. Compared to his zealous companions, he had been slower to approach.

"I will have to take you up on that offer," said L'Arachel. "As Rennac said, the desert is a small matter."

"You must be joking. When I said 'small matter,' I meant exactly the—"

Joshua cut in. "For the crossing, we would be happy to provide your party with guides and provisions." His patience had frayed, and he did not care to waste any time listening to his companions bicker. "Princess L'Arachel," he went on, "I would like a word with my captain."

"Your captain?" L'Arachel looked puzzled, but only for a second "Ah, yes—you mean Marisa. She is resting under the tarp."

Joshua nodded, and left the group to make his way toward the camp. He didn't make it far before he heard someone following him. Joshua stopped and turned to find Rennac keeping pace with him.

"Do you need something?"

"Yes," Rennac said. "What the Princess may have managed to omit was that _I_ am responsible for rescuing your captain from the depths of the bandit's lair."

"Then you have my thanks."

"My services require more than gratitude."

"Gold, then." Joshua wanted to hit Rennac in the mouth for pestering him about this now, of all times. "I'll see to it that receive a reward. Now, please—"

"How much?"

Even in his annoyance, Joshua had to admire the man's tenacity. Still, he put a hand on Rennac's shoulder and lowered his voice. "I appreciate what you've done probably more than you can imagine, Rennac. But if you continue to hound me before I speak with Marisa, then consider the amount reduced for every second's delay."

Rennac had no reply, and Joshua brushed past him. He reached the camp before anyone else could stop him.

Marisa was awake, sitting in the shade of the tarp with her back against the stone face of the ridge. She looked worn and tried, but mostly uninjured, barring a few scrapes and a bruise on her forehead. As Joshua stepped under the tarp, she stood in greeting.

"You can sit."

Marisa shook her head. She took two steps forward, knelt, and bowed down before him. Her face remained tight-lipped and solemn.

"What are you doing?" Joshua asked.

"I pledged my service to you. I swore to stay by your side—to fight, to train, to make you stronger. But I've only burdened you, and I've failed my duty."

Joshua could barely hear her. Marisa spoke quietly and into the dirt.

"Get up," he said.

Marisa didn't move.

"I said get up!"

Joshua had shouted it. Marisa looked up at him, then stood up slowly, her expression steady. Joshua couldn't read her face.

"Marisa," he said. "You don't remember the conditions of the bet we made during the war, do you? I asked you to be my partner—my _partner_, remember? I have servants at home, maybe a hundred, and thousands of soldiers, too. They all serve me. I have healers, and messengers, and generals, and they all serve me. I'm the King of Jehanna, and I have enough loyal subjects. You never pledged your service to me, and I never wanted you to. What I wanted was a partner. I won the bet, didn't I?

"So I'm going to ask you again, all right?

"Marisa. I want you to be my partner for awhile… How does that sound?"

Joshua held her gaze.

After a moment, Marisa nodded.

"All right."

Joshua closed the gap between them in four steps, and put his arms around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and Joshua felt her body relax and ease against his. He wanted to tell her _'don't ever die again,'_ but that would be pushing his luck. Maybe she was his partner, but first and foremost, she was a fighter. For her, the threat of death was always present.

Still…

"Thank you for being alive."

Marisa murmured a response. He couldn't quite hear what she said, but Joshua decided he didn't need to ask.


	15. Bravery

Gerik's goal was simple: find Miles and take him. Once news of his capture spread, those loyal to both Jehanna and Miles himself would lay down their weapons. Since Miles was regent, the commander of the guard would do everything in his power to keep him alive, with Joshua's own living status in question. Without Miles, the ruling state in Jehanna would crash into complete disarray. Gerik had that to his advantage.

But first, to have a fighting chance, Gerik needed to arm his insurrection. The armory was some ways away from dungeons, and it was important for his group to avoid being caught by a large number of armed guards before they were fully armed. Gerik's initial idea was to create a distraction—have a smaller group of prisoners draw the attention of the guards, then lead the rest to the armory in the ensuing chaos. On further thought, though, Gerik realized that he needed a different plan. If Miles was smart, he would immediately send most of his men to protect the armory once word of a prison break spread. Splitting the prisoners was also riskier, and the casualties would be greater.

Gerik wasn't satisfied with his second plan, either, but it was the best he could think of. In such a position, his options were limited. He had to get his group to the armory in order to make it a fair fight. With that accomplished, he could set out to find and capture Miles while the others fought. During his time organizing the insurrection, Gerik had selected eight former guards who been sent to the dungeons for vocalizing their loyalty to Joshua. They were to join Gerik in his hunt to track down Miles.

Gerik flexed his fingers and looked up from his seat on the dungeon floor. There were at least thirty cells in the dungeon, and prisoners were often being crammed four to a cell—sometimes as many as five or six. Miles had six guards watching at all times, with each surveying about five cells. At the moment, the late shift for the current guards was nearing its end. It was close to midnight, and it was then that the guards were at their most drowsy.

About seven cells down from Gerik, two rough voices began to rise. Two of the prisoners were fighting. Almost in unison, the other men in Gerik's cell stood up and wandered toward the bars, as if to see what was happening. The guard closest to them stood on alert, lance at the ready, but the shouting only grew stronger. Other shouts joined in, and a sharp _clang_ rang out. The guard facing Gerik shifted nervously. As soon as he heard another clang, the guard abandoned his post and went to join the rabble.

Gerik held the key Tethys had given him. Calmly, he slipped his arms through the bars and worked the lock. He finished in seconds and quietly slid open the cell. He motioned for two of the men to follow him out. Now Gerik could see along the stone passage of the dungeon. Seven cells away, a prisoner was grappling with a guard through the bars, and two other guards were trying to pull him away.

Gerik ran. He covered the distance in several quick bounds and tackled the closest guard. The man hit the ground and lost his lance. Gerik rolled off of him and grabbed the weapon, then stabbed the guard in the chest. By then, Gerik's cellmates had entered the fray. One had managed to disarm the second guard, but the other had been shoved away. Gerik thrust his lance at the back of the third guard's head and split open his skull. By the time he had fallen, Gerik's cellmates had killed the other. They had armed themselves with the lances of the dead men by the time the last three guards in the dungeon descended on them.

Gerik couldn't fight properly with a lance, but it hardly mattered. The cramped space of the dungeon passage made skill less important than speed and strength—in those, Gerik made for more than a match. Gerik's cellmates were seasoned guards themselves, and the bout was decided quickly. Gerik remained uninjured save for a small cut on the shin, and the others stood victorious. Three more of Miles's men were dead, and they had three more lances to distribute among the prisoners.

The other men in Gerik's cell had joined them, and together, they began to open each of the remaining cells, using keys taken from the fallen guards. Not all of the prisoners chose to leave. Some were cowardly, and refused to fight against Miles. Others—many, in fact—were women and children. In all, Gerik had about fifty able-bodied men. Once freed, Gerik armed three of the strongest with the spare lances, then began to lead them out of the dungeon.

Halfway up the stairs, Gerik considered urging the men on with a rousing cheer. _'For Jehanna! For King Joshua!'_

He refrained, of course. Waking up half the castle could be fatally counterproductive.

Gerik could only lead the men to the top of the stairs. He knew just vaguely where the armory was, and that wasn't good enough. Gerik left the directions to a man named Salman—a former guard, and a hot-blooded youth who was fiercely loyal to Joshua. They had shared a cell, and Gerik had dictated to him the particulars of his plan. For all intents and purposes, Salman was his second in command. Gerik thought it necessary should he die or become wounded in battle.

That, however, was something Gerik considered unlikely. He'd survived the War of the Stones, and lived through a bout with the Demon King. Compared to that, this was a risk hardly worth registering.

As Salman lead the mass of men along halls and corridors of Jehanna Hall, they encountered few others. It was late, and for a moment, Gerik thought they might gain free access to the armory—all the servants and single guards they encountered fled at the sight of them. Soon enough, though, they encountered resistance.

Gerik recognized this part of the castle. They were one passage and about sixty steps away from the armory. Blocking their path were four armed men. With a start, Gerik realized that they were mercenaries, not guards. Miles must have hired them, anticipating both the insurrection and his plan to use the armory.

Gold from the treasury could have been better spent. Gerik recognized each man. Two of the four were green, barely seventeen years old. The third was a scarred, grizzled veteran, whose mind and body had been on a downward slope for some years now. The fourth worried Gerik the most. Cutthroat Crag, the other mercenaries called him. He was ruthless, greedy, and strong as a bull. He swung around an enormous battle axe as though it were made of parchment. Ironically, its blade was so dull that it functioned more like a club. To have a chance, Gerik needed a sword.

Ever brave—and ever reckless—Gerik's five armed men charged the four. Gerik followed, keeping a careful eye on Crag. Salman leaped forward to face him, and Gerik felt himself grimace as Crag's axe came a breath away from crushing his face. Gerik's other men were fairing better. One of the young mercenaries was feeling cocky, and fought with sloppy carelessness. A wild, arcing swing of the blade earned him a quick counterattack and a lance through the chest. Gerik tossed his own lance behind him for one of the other men to use, then snuck into the fray to take the unused sword.

The weapon was iron, and the blade was slighter than Gerik was used to, but at least it was functional. Gerik turned to engage Crag, and immediately saw Salman reel back and tumble to the ground; unwisely, he had tried to block Crag's axe with the shaft of his lance. The lance had shattered, and Crag was bearing down upon Salman when Gerik stepped forward. Crag tilted his head and guffawed at the sight of him.

"You fell in with the wrong side this time, Gerik," he said. Salman tried to crawl away and leave the fight to Gerik, but Crag took one long step and stomped down on Salman's ankle. Gerik heard the bone crunch.

"Leave him," Gerik said. He readied his sword, exhaling slowly, and felt the familiar anticipation, cool and limber, ease into his limbs. No amount of time spent trapped in a cell could truly rust his swordsmanship.

Crag put more weight on his boot, and Salman shouted a curse. Gerik shuffled forward and swung; Crag blocked with his axe. He laughed.

"A twig! You cannot fell a man so large as me with that!"

Gerik swung again, and Crag parried. With a turn of the wrist, Gerik slid the blade down and swiped at Crag's legs. Crag had no choice but to step back, and with that, Salman was freed. Hoping Salman would get himself away from the fight, Gerik pressed his attack, driving Crag further back. Yet Crag's axe acted like a great metal shield, and Gerik felt each hit, metal on metal, ring up through his arms. He needed a new tactic, and quickly, an idea came to him.

Gerik forced himself to make a poor feint. Crag didn't budge, and took Gerik's move as an opening. He brought his axe down and Gerik slipped by it; with surprising speed, Crag brought the axe around, careening in a twirl. This time, Gerik ducked. The momentum of the blow twisted Crag into a half pirouette, and Gerik had his opening. He stood up and thrust the blade into Crag's back. The point came out through his chest, piercing his heart en route. Crag sputtered and fell, his girth slapping tickly onto the stone floor. Gerik slid the sword out of him.

"Twig is sharp," he told the corpse.

Cutthroat Crag was the last of the mercenaries to fall. The four lay dead, and Gerik's men had only sustained injuries—though one had been stabbed in the thigh, and Salman, of course, could hardly walk. Gerik watched his men arm themselves with the weapons of their dead foes, with one particularly adventurous man hefting Crag's enormous axe. His eyes strayed as Salman hobbled toward him. He was sweating and red in the face.

"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head.

"There's no need for that," Gerik said. "Stand straight. The bards will sing of your bravery for swapping blows with that beast of a man." _Or perhaps I'll have Joshua pay them to._

Gerik was being partly facetious, but Salman looked pleased. He gave the boy an encouraging nod and turned away. Behind the group, Gerik began to hear a soft rumble of incoming footsteps. Those who still stood idle he urged on toward the armory. Though they had won this brief skirmish, the true battle had only just started.

Gerik could only wonder how many guards Miles had convinced to die for him. Or had he hired more mercenaries? Gerik would find out soon enough. In the meantime, he'd like to find a bigger sword.

Unfortunately, that proved to be impossible.

"The armory's been sacked!" someone shouted. "They've left us only sticks!"

For a second, Gerik felt a cold dread clench around his chest. Then he forced himself to give his men a grim smile.

"Better take them, then," he said.

They looked at him questioningly. He had to make a decision.

"The eight of you with me," Gerik said, "arm yourselves. Take what you can from what we have. Use anything but a stick." Then he paused. Sending unarmed men into battle was barbaric and idiotic. "The rest of you," he continued, "run. Escape however you can. Leave the Hall, steal a horse, do whatever you like to get out of here."

A man from the group stepped forward.

"With all due respect, sir," he said. "I believe the men would rather fight with sticks."

Gerik surveyed them all. From their expressions, collectively steely and fierce, it seemed true enough. Trying to persuade them from it would only waste time, and it was time, more than anything, that they couldn't afford to lose. Barbaric and idiotic it was, then.

"Fine," Gerik said. "Fine! Stay with us until you've gotten a real weapon, then disperse! Go and show this old, sleepy place that there are still a few of us who haven't forgotten the name King Joshua!"

The crowd roared its approval and Gerik ran, beckoning them on.


	16. Dance

Joshua paced the length of his tent. Marisa sat on his bed and watched him quizzically. Initially, Marisa had insisted upon standing, but Joshua had somehow been able to convince her to sit the only place she could. Joshua's tent conspicuously lacked a chair, which seemed odd, since the suppliers had gone out of their way to afford him with a comfortable bed. Which was ridiculous, now that he considered it. King or no, next time he was on the march, Joshua would insist upon sleeping on the ground like the rest of his men. In war, there was no room for excess. He didn't recall Ephraim ever asking anyone to haul around a bed for him, and he had been a true king in everything but ceremony.

Joshua stopped his pacing and glanced at Marisa.

"What were you thinking?"

She didn't answer.

"It's a good question, 'innit? Truly, I'm asking you—what were you thinking?"

"I thought I could beat him," Marisa said.

Joshua shook his head. He started pacing again. "No, _before_ that. Before you even got there and overheard them. When you saw Mortar sneaking around, heading toward Osa, you should have woken me up. We could have sent a whole unit after him. Then we would have had their leader and the traitor alive."

"I didn't know what he was doing."

Joshua sighed. "But you knew it was suspicious. That's why you followed him."

"That's right."

"So?"

Joshua didn't want to berate Marisa too harshly, but in this instance, he needed to get an answer out of her. Normally, when dealing with these kinds of situations, she was at least rational. But following Mortar and playing the spy, or the hero, was not part of her normal thought process. At least he didn't think it was. Now, though, Joshua needed his doubts to be put to rest.

But Marisa wasn't talking. And Joshua couldn't exactly order her to, either—not in good conscious, after he went on about how they were partners.

"Marisa." He paused. "If something's bothering you, you should tell me. I'm not angry with you, but I would like to know what made you decide to follow Mortar by yourself. I'd like to know what you were thinking. Please."

It wasn't exactly true. Joshua _was_ angry with her—had been, for her disappearing act and that she had almost gotten herself killed—but the gladness he felt by having her back far outweighed the animosity.

"Come on, Marisa."

Still, she wouldn't budge. Joshua sighed again.

"All right," he said. "How about a different question? You and Gerik are the two best swordsmen I've ever sparred with. How did this man beat you? Silvanious. Tell me about his style."

Joshua could tell Marisa wasn't in the mood to talk, regardless of subject. She wasn't talkative to begin with, and when she got into one these moods, he had to be especially patient. This was also important, though. Joshua had every intention of fighting Silvanious himself—with support, if necessary—and each bit of intel he could gather on the man could help. This intel, specifically. Joshua needed to find a weakness.

"He fights like a dancer," Marisa said.

"Okay," Joshua said, pinching his lips a bit. "Swordplay is often compared to a dance."

After a second, Marisa only nodded.

Joshua's lips grew tighter. This was Marisa at her most cloistered and irritating. "Then could please elaborate?"

Marisa stared at him, her eyes hard. Joshua felt a shiver, but held her gaze. Finally, he understood. Marisa was not familiar with failure. Her life revolved around her ability to fight, to execute, to kill. This discussion, however necessary, focused entirely on recent events that had clearly damaged Marisa's pride.

However, after a moment, she spoke.

"Tethys," she said. "She's a dancer, too. Her moves are unpredictable, but they all serve a bigger purpose. Her dances can raise spirits, revitalize the weary, and make men fall in love with her."

Joshua felt his eyes widen. Marisa's spoke in the same low, level way she always did, sounding neither bitter nor jealous. Yet this was the first she had spoke of Tethys or Gerik since leaving Jehanna Hall.

"He moves like her," she continued. "There is no style or pattern to follow. There are no movements to predict. Each attack and parry flows to the next as if his limbs always know where to be. I wasn't prepared for it." She paused. "I don't know how to prepare for it."

So that was part of it. Losing to a seemingly undefeatable opponent would drive any warrior with Marisa's devotion insane.

"That sounds like a problem," Joshua said. "I was going to ask you to try to spar with me while copying his style, but…"

Marisa shook her head. She looked tired now, as if expelling her worries concerning Silvanious had been a rigorous exercise. It was growing late, however, and likely Marisa hadn't had proper rest since being captured. Despite that, part of Joshua still wanted to press her on the events leading up to her capture, and what had motivated her to act the way she had. Except that, it seemed, would need to wait. He would feel bad badgering her about it at this point. Looking at her now, Joshua had an idea.

"I want you to sleep here tonight," he said.

Marisa blinked. "What?"

Joshua gave her a look, then suddenly realized the implications. "No. No! Not with _me_, just…" He shook his head. "We have this damned bed, and you haven't slept anywhere decent for awhile. I'd like for you to rest here tonight."

She regarded him blankly.

"It will help your strength," he said, grasping for reasoning that she would understand and accept. "Right? I want you at your best tomorrow."

It seemed to have worked. Marisa nodded. "Okay."

Joshua smiled. "Thanks. I'll tell the guards that you're in here. It'd be good for them to know that they might lose a limb if they walk in on you at the wrong time."

Marisa nodded again, either ignoring Joshua's joke or finding no humor in it. Oh well. The day Marisa laughed at any of his jokes would be the day the continent split and hellfire rained down from the sky.

Joshua bade Marisa goodnight and turned to leave.

"You're soft."

Joshua stopped and looked back. Marisa lay on her side, her dominant left arm up. Her eyes were closed, and she could have been asleep.

"You're like the chief," she said. "You're not hard on your men at all."

"You're not one of my men," Joshua said. "I told you that."

"Then you're not too hard on anyone."

Joshua looked away, then spoke softly to himself. "That's not quite true." He raised his voice a little. "Sleep well, Marisa."

Outside the tent, the air was cool. Hamill Canyon was technically outside the desert, but the climate was much the same—blazing hot by day and chilly by night.

In his peripheral vision, Joshua caught a blur of movement in the dark. He drew his blade and found the its tip aimed at the startled face of Rennac. Joshua's pulse slowed and he sheathed his sword, annoyed and not bothering to hide it. Earlier, he and Rennac had negotiated the payment for his part in Marisa's rescue. After that, Joshua thought he'd be rid of him. This was apparently not the case.

"Can I help you?" Joshua asked.

"I think there's something we ought to discuss," Rennac said. "Something I've considered, and found rather… suspicious."

"Concerning what?"

"Perhaps if we stepped inside…" Rennac motioned toward the tent.

Bad idea. "No. Walk with me."

Joshua wouldn't normally humor Rennac like this, but there was something about his expression that made him wary. Rennac was self-interested and a bit of a coward, but he wasn't a fool. With any luck, he was looking to express a serious concern rather than to pitch some kind of scheme that would put more gold in his pocket.

They walked in silence. Rennac followed Joshua to the outskirts of camp at a quick pace. Joshua was feeling tired himself and wanted to get this over with. They found an area that appeared to be deserted. The surrounding land was flat and there was nowhere anyone could listen in without being seen. When Joshua turned to face him, Rennac was scanning the darkness.

"Anyone out there?"

Rennac shook his head.

"Good. So what have you got for me?"

Rennac licked his lips. "The League of Thieves… you wouldn't say that they're a small group, would you?"

"No. Not according to the reports."

"I didn't think so," Rennac said. He gave Joshua a crooked smile. "Then it may surprise you to know that I encountered startlingly few brigands after infiltrating their hideout."

Joshua frowned. "Weren't some of them fighting Princess L'Arachel?"

"Some," Rennac agreed. "But it wasn't an overwhelming force. I think you should be prepared to find that either your reports were wrong, or…" He trailed off.

"Or what?"

Somewhere from the other side of camp, a horn sounded. Then another. It was a warning—camp was under attack.

Rennac's eyes narrowed and his lip curled. "I think we may be about to find out."

###

Gerik's men had become an unruly mob. The men with sticks had taken to surrounding individual guards and bludgeoning them down by weight of sheer numbers. The sticks Miles had left them in sardonic jest were thin, brittle and made for poor weapons, but if he could see the shape of the loyal guards who fell under their blows, Gerik wondered if Miles would rather have left them nothing. The men moved en masse through Jehanna Hall, leaving broken wood, twigs, and unconscious guards in their wake.

Gerik was almost sad to leave them, but he had to track down Miles while they provided the main distraction. They should be safe—with each guard they overwhelmed, they added one true weapon to their arsenal. Once enough of them were armed, Gerik motioned for his team of eight men, and they split from the mob. Their first destination was the throne room. It was obvious, but as a good a place to start as any. Though by sacking the armory, Miles had clearly anticipated the uprising, so Gerik doubted that he was still hiding there.

What Gerik did expect was an ambush. Fortunately, as anticipated, Miles didn't have many men to spare for it. On their normal nightly rounds, the guards were thinly dispersed around Jehanna Hall. Some would have been asleep, and though most of them had to be awake by now, the castle was in a state of pandemonium. Without contact from their commanding officers, the guards had little hope of mounting any well-organized resistance. Also, Gerik hoped that many of them had reservations about fighting for Miles and going up against their old comrades.

Miles had left ten men in the throne room. They fell down upon Gerik's group quickly, but Gerik had warned them to be prepared for it. These men were better trained than most of the guards Miles had won over, but they were far from elite—save for one man. Commander Harford, Jehanna's interim captain of the guard. He was one of the several young, ambitious men to receive a quick promotion after the attack on the castle during the War of the Stones, which had thinned the ranks considerably. Gerik had met him just once, but he had seemed just and honorable—not the kind of man who would lend his strength to a duplicitous worm like Miles.

Gerik wanted to isolate Harford; perhaps he could convince him to lay down his arms, since it would be a shame to kill him. Still, Gerik had to reach him first.

Two of the attackers immediately engaged Gerik. However, one of them recognized him and hung back while his comrade charged. A more skilled lanceman could pose a threat, but this man did not qualify. As he closed in, Gerik slipped past his initial thrust and lopped off the tip of the lance. In one easy motion, Gerik turned and brought his sword back down in a sweep, tearing open the man's throat. He went down with a spray of blood.

Meanwhile, the second attacker had left Gerik to fight a different man among the group. Good—that meant Gerik could focus on Harford. The commander was struggling with one of Gerik's men; both had lost their weapons, and they were grappling on the ground. This presented a good opportunity, but before Gerik could get close enough, Harford shifted his weight and threw off his attacker. The man spun in the air and landed badly on his neck. By the time Gerik had reached Harford, he was armed and back on his feet.

Harford looked sad. "Commander Gerik. A man of honor, who fought beside our king in the face of the Demon King… what could have brought you to betray him in this manner?"

"You're wrong, Harford," Gerik said. "I don't know what Miles has told you, but I was hired by King Joshua to watch over Jehanna Hall in his absence. Miles has betrayed the people of Jehanna, not me."

To Gerik's surprise, Harford closed his eyes. He made a fist with his off hand, which seemed to be shaking. "King Joshua is dead," he said.

"What? Harford, surely—"

Harford shook his head. He opened his eyes, and Gerik saw tears. "His Majesty's body arrived at Jehanna Hall by wyvern late last night. I saw it myself." Harford raised his lance, his grip now steady. "I recognize Sir Miles as acting regent. As a knight of Jehanna, I must follow his command. There is nothing more to say."

Gerik couldn't manage a retort. _His Majesty's body… Was it a trick, or—?_

Harford took three quick steps and drove forward his lance. Gerik parried, but nearly lost his footing. Harford continued his attack with precision and strength, keeping Gerik on the defensive. Unlike his previous foe, Harford _was_ a skilled lanceman. Worse, the image of Joshua's pale corpse had imbedded itself in Gerik's mind. His focus was slipping.

If Joshua was dead… if he was, then what did this matter?

Gerik and his men could kill every guard in Jehanna Hall, but in the end, it would still belong to Miles.


	17. Weariness

The warning horn continued to sound as Joshua ran back the way they came. Rennac followed just a few feet behind. While Joshua knew he should focus on _what_ was happening rather than _why_, he couldn't help but weigh the implications as he approached camp. It was, after all, a fine sneak attack, but it still didn't make sense as a tactical move. The League of Thieves could do some damage here, but as outnumbered as they were, the only viable strategy would have been for them to whole up in their hideout and defend a siege. If they were smart, they could have kept at it for a while.

So why this?

Joshua had an idea, but the realization made his gut turn. The last time they met, hadn't Silvanious targeted him specifically? Perhaps tonight's assailants weren't trying for a total victory—perhaps they knew that, even with their berserker drug, that that would be impossible. Perhaps instead their plan was simply to kill the King of Jehanna.

Joshua stopped. A second later, Rennac ran straight into him. Somehow Joshua managed to keep his balance, but Rennac spun and fell chest first into the coarse dirt. Shaking it from his hair, he sat up and glowered at Joshua.

"Why," he asked, "did you stop? That horn is still sounding!"

Joshua didn't hear him. "Miles would be regent."

"Who?"

"If I die," Joshua went on, "he would take over—unless someone could prove that he betrayed me. And how could they? I'm a fool! The only man I voiced my suspicions to was Gerik, and he's a mercenary. They'd treat him like an outsider."

Rennac looked dumbfounded. "I'm… sure that's a very unfortunate thing, but the camp—"

The camp. Joshua took off again, running as hard as his breath allowed. If they were targeting him, the first place they would try was his tent. It wouldn't be hard to find, and if they had a spy or someone watching the camp…

But Joshua wasn't in his tent. Marisa was. She wasn't the King of Jehanna, but they wouldn't hesitate to kill her—or hold her at ransom again. The timing was disgusting. Joshua almost had to laugh. It was horrible, but at least it simplified things. Joshua knew where he needed to be.

By the time he reached camp, Joshua was already well ahead of Rennac. Briefly, it occurred to Joshua that Rennac probably would rather wait outside camp then join the potential skirmish. Joshua didn't have time to be thinking about Rennac, though. The sound of the horn had roused the men from their tents; they looked tired and were in various states of undress. Joshua shouted at them as he ran past.

"Dress and arm yourselves for battle! Move! We're under attack! Quickly! Move!"

Toward the center of camp more men were ready to fight. Joshua motioned for them to follow him, and so gained a small guard as he continued on toward his tent. Already, there were men fighting outside it. Several lay dead. Marisa was there, as well as Commander Mostak and two other men. They were outnumbered, though, and the brigands they fought all had the telltale look in their eyes. Many of them were badly hurt—broken bones, lost limbs—but of course, because of the drug, no pain or injury could temper their ferocity.

The men behind Joshua gaped at the scene. Joshua had stopped for a second take stock. Now here turned to them.

"Did you follow me here to stand and stare? Go! Fight!"

Joshua led them in a charge. Some—maybe half—of the brigands turned to meet them. Joshua broke from the group slightly when he saw the shaggy-haired man fighting Marisa. The brigand had lost half his left arm, but Joshua approached him from behind and decapitated him with a quick, clean stroke.

"Behind you!"

In his effort, he'd left his own flank wide open. Joshua felt a body slam into him, and he hit the ground hard. Joshua tried to roll over—tried to move at all—but the massive girth of his attacker kept him pinned on his stomach. A tight grip clamped down on his sword arm. A blow had to be coming.

Then Joshua felt it. The same shoulder where the brigand in Osa had got him before—the thick, savage blade of an axe. He didn't make a sound. He may die here, but at least he wouldn't give his attacker that satisfaction. He expected another blow, but instead he heard Marisa's voice again.

"Get up."

The weight on his back lessened. He shoved the body off of him and looked up at Marisa. The brigand that had tackled him was dead from an ugly blow to the head; his severed hand, still clutching a bloody axe, lay next to his corpse. It took a second or two for Joshua to understand. The brigand hadn't been aiming for his shoulder—Marisa had stopped the killing blow just in time with a perfect strike that had cut up through the brigand's wrist and continued on to the head.

Joshua took Marisa's hand and she pulled him up.

"You're amazing," he said.

Marisa only nodded. Her face was flushed, and her hair hung loose and unkempt. The skirmish continued around them, but Marisa didn't seem to want to leave his side.

"You need a healer," she said.

"You're right." He chuckled. "Same shoulder as last time. Just my luck, eh?"

More men had joined the fray, and the brigands were badly outnumbered now. Soon they were overwhelmed by the stream of reinforcements, and it was Commander Mostak himself who felled the last one with a blow directly to the heart. He gave an order to the men around him, then approached Joshua.

"Your Highness." He blinked. "You're injured. _Healer_! Here!"

Mostak's booming voice seemed to summon a cleric from out of nowhere. Marisa had to move to let her tend to Joshua's wound.

"The main battle is on the south end of camp," Mostak said. "They attacked there initially, but it was a diversion. I came here as soon as I could. Of course, you weren't here, but your Captain was." He put on a grim smile. "She fought well tonight."

Joshua put a hand on Marisa's shoulder. "Even without any proper rest." He paused and noticed for the first time that Mostak was bleeding from his cheek. "When you're done," he told the cleric, "tend to Commander Mostak."

"Please," Mostak said. "Your Highness, I can wait. Captain Marisa deserves first attention."

Joshua surveyed Marisa. It was hard to tell in the wavering torchlight, but she seemed to have avoided injury save for a few small cuts and bruises. Just as the cleric finished with Joshua's shoulder, a soldier wearing a haphazard assortment of armor approached Commander Mostak. He didn't seem to realize his king was standing a few feet away, but that suited Joshua just fine.

"Sir," the soldier said. "The south side of camp is secure." He looked down. "We've taken loses, but…"

"Any prisoners?" Mostak asked.

"No, sir. They were all…" The soldier trailed off again.

"I understand. Once they're under the influence of that drug, the only thing we can do is kill them. it's a mercy, really."

The soldier nodded. "Sir."

Mostak sighed, sounding tired for the first time. "Let's get everything cleaned up, then. Get some of the men who were too slow getting ready to do it. Anyone who fought is free to return to return to bed."

"Yes, sir." The soldier saluted and trotted off.

Joshua yawned.

Mostak gave him a weary grin. "I agree, Your Highness. It has been a long night."

"Yes," Joshua said. "Commander, before you leave, there is one thing. How many men do you think attacked camp tonight?"

"It couldn't have been much more than thirty or forty, Your Highness. The south side fight was bigger, but not by much. It couldn't have been the entire League of Thieves."

"Right. There was no sign of that man, Silvanious, either." Joshua shook his head. "The more you think about it, the less sense it makes. If killing me was their only objective, then why waste so many men in an attempt that could easily fail?"

"It would've been better for them to stay in that canyon hideout of theirs and wait for us," Mostak said.

Joshua remembered what Rennac told him_. 'I encountered startlingly few brigands after infiltrating their hideout.'_ Maybe the entire League of Thieves _had_ attacked them tonight. The information may have simply been wrong, and Silvanious gambled everything on one final attempt to kill him, knowing he could never face Joshua's army directly with such a small group. Silvanious knew then that the attack would probably fail and took the opportunity to flee.

It still didn't seem right, but Joshua was too tired to think about it.

"We'll storm that hideout tomorrow," Joshua said. "Then we'll see who or what's left hiding there." He rubbed his eyes. "I'd like you to double the watch, too. And put ten men around this tent."

"I will, Your Highness."

Once Mostak was gone, Joshua beckoned for Marisa to follow him into the tent. Joshua wasted no time kicking off his boots and flopping down onto the bed. Marisa didn't follow him. She stood near the entrance, her face and posture wooden.

"You can sit down," Joshua said.

She didn't move.

"Come on, please?"

"All right," she said.

Marisa approached the bed. She didn't sit directly next to him, but took the floor instead and leaned her back against the base of the bed. _Oh well_, Joshua thought. At least he'd gotten her to quit standing.

"You must be tired," he said.

Marisa nodded slowly. After a little while, when Joshua didn't say anything else, she closed her eyes. For several minutes Joshua watched her take long, even breaths. Still, he knew she wasn't asleep yet—although it was actually hard to tell the difference sometimes, because Marisa was as light a sleeper as anyone he knew.

"I'm going to let you have this bed," Joshua said.

There was no response. Joshua almost rolled his eyes. Was he going to have to convince her _again_? Hadn't he already done that? Sometimes, Marisa picked the most annoying times to be stubborn.

"Marisa, I want you to get some good rest." He paused. "Really. Tonight you saved the king's life, so you definitely deserve the king's bed. Doesn't that make a lot of sense? I think it does." He paused to yawn again. Maybe it didn't make sense, and he was too tired to realize it. The sleepiness was putting him in a bit of a silly mood. Since Marisa wasn't answering, he just kept talking. "Yes, Marisa, you are a hero. When I return to Jehanna Hall—after I've put Miles's head on a spike somewhere—I will commission a bard, and there will be songs about you that will become famous throughout Magvel. Everyone will know your legend. The tale of mighty Marisa, the Crimson Flash…"

He trailed off. This was a lot of silliness for someone to take in complete silence—even if that someone was Marisa.

It occurred to Joshua then that maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe she _was_ asleep.

Joshua got up off the bed. Marisa looked comfortable, but he didn't want her sleeping on the floor like this. After a while she'd just wake up with an ache in her back or her neck. Joshua decided that he ought to try to lift her onto the bed. If he had been thinking straight, he probably wouldn't have tried to do it.

Joshua bent over and scooped Marisa up. Her eyes shot open and she started to flail, throwing hands and elbows at his face. Joshua yelled, lost his balance, and the two of them fell onto the bed in a heap. Marisa started to wrestle with him, and they jostled and rolled over each other a few times before a guard outside raised his voice and poked his head inside the tent.

The two of them froze on the bed and stared back at him. Their hair and clothes were wildly disheveled. Marisa had both her hands on Joshua's chest, and Joshua had one on her neck and another on her face.

"Y-Your Highness," the guard said. He cleared his throat. "Ex… excuse me."

The guard's head disappeared, then the tent closed behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Joshua burst into a laugh. Marisa shook his chest. She was still laying on top of him.

"That wasn't funny," she said.

Joshua chuckled. "Yes it was."

"They're going to start saying things about me."

"No, they won't," Joshua said. He raised his voice so that the guards outside could hear him. "No one is going to tell a soul!"

Marisa got off of Joshua and slid to one side of the bed. Joshua scooted over a little to give her some room.

After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry I woke you up that way." His voice was quiet.

"I thought someone was attacking me. If I had sword you would be dead."

"I know." Joshua sat up. "Now how about I finally let you get some real sleep, eh?"

When Joshua moved to get off the bed, Marisa put a hand on his arm.

"You can stay," she said. "It's a big enough bed."

Joshua stopped and glanced down at her. She looked embarrassed but determined in some way.

"What about the things they'll say about you?" he said.

Marisa shifted into a more comfortable position and closed her eyes. "They can say what they want."


	18. Throne

The fake corpse had been a stroke of genius. If he'd known such a trick was possible, Miles could have secured the loyalty of _every_ guard in Jehanna Hall rather than having to throw dozens of the more suspicious ones in the dungeon. It hardly mattered now, with everything happening so quickly, but he was still glad to have unshakeable loyalty from Harford and the rest of the guard for this one, important night. Still, the likeness of the cold body was so exact that, the first time he saw it, Miles was convinced for a second that the corpse was real, despite knowing what it was. It was truly masterful work. That said, he wasn't sure he wanted to meet the man responsible for creating such a thing.

Miles put the idea out of his mind. The corpse was merely a tool, and soon he would no longer need it. The only thing that stood between him and the throne, now, was Gerik's revolt. Miles had been prepared for it—he had even sacked the armory—but those involved had proven to be unexpectedly tenacious. In fact, Miles refused to delude himself; the revolt was succeeding, and as the night wore on, he could be in real danger. Worse, Gerik's band did not believe the men they fought—the ones who claimed that King Joshua was dead and that Miles was their rightful ruler. They had not seen the corpse, and Miles could hardly parade it around.

Presently, Miles's was en route to the front gate. His guard was ten men strong—all capable mercenaries that Miles handpicked. Stupidly, Miles was still nervous; around each corner, there was a chance Gerik and a squad of traitors could appear in his path. It was more likely that they were engaged in the throne room, held down by Harford, but the thought didn't put Miles at ease. By now, the fight had spread across much of Jehanna Hall. Many guards lay dead. Blood decorated the walls and carpet. However, Miles and his escort moved fast, and the action evaded them. The first live man they encountered was a single guard posted at the gate. Miles recognized him. He often dozed during his watches, but for whatever reason Harford hadn't gotten around to relieving him of his duties. To be fair, Miles had kept his captain of the guard quite busy.

The guard at the gate gave Miles a sloppy salute. At least tonight he seemed awake and alert.

"Sir," the guard said, "I just received word from the watch. There is, apparently, a force massing outside the walls." He gulped. "As I'm sure you're, ah, _aware_… we're not in any state to properly defend the hall. I'm also told that the men may belong to the—"

Miles held up a hand to silence him. "Thank you for the report. I would like you to begin lowering the gate."

The guard stared at him. "Sir?

"Do it. I won't ask again."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but—"

Miles waved toward one his men. "Kill him."

The closest mercenary drew a knife and stuck the guard between the ribs. He was dead in a second. _Now you can enjoy your sleep_, Miles thought.

He motioned at the others. "Open the gate."

Outside the walls, a group of five men waited. Four of them were very large and brutish. Two held torches. They stood in a half circle around the fifth man. He was thin, had light hair, and wore gray myrmidon's robes. He approached Miles and extended a hand.

"Good evening, Your Highness," Silvanious said.

Miles clasped his hand. "I didn't expect you for another few days."

Silvanious smiled. "Oh, these things happen. Is my appearance not timely? I've heard there's been some trouble inside your walls."

Miles licked his lips. "It is… minor trouble."

"You're sure? I brought some of my men with me. Surely you could use them to bolster your strength."

"Yes, perhaps. How many do you have?"

"Fifty or so," Silvanious said.

"Very well. Bring them and follow me."

Silvanious walked with Miles toward the gate, and both escorts followed. Behind them, more brigands appeared from out of the darkness. In a thick stream, they began to close in on Jehanna Hall.

Once inside, Miles began speaking quickly. "I was forced to imprison the mercenary commander, Gerik, and few dozen others. They escape the dungeon in order to lead this attack."

"Ah," said Silvanious. "So they are lead by the Desert Tiger."

"Yes," Miles said. "They've spread themselves thin. I laid a trap in the throne room; Gerik could be there. Otherwise, we'll have to scour the hall for him."

"I'd suggest leaving some men here, to guard the gate. So that he cannot escape?"

"I will," Miles said. "But there are other ways out."

"Yes, but does the Desert Tiger know of them?"

"I'm not sure."

"Then this route will be his most likely choice," Silvanious said, "and he will be ours if he comes this way."

Miles nodded. "I would hear news from you, too, Silvanious. Is the king dead?"

"Yes. He was caught and killed in an ambush. His army survives, however, and they will soon march on this place. For that, I don't suppose you would need the assistance of me and my men?"

Miles frowned. "How much more will it cost?"

"Nothing more than I am already owed. I did not entirely eliminate the army, as promised, so the cost remains the same. Is that agreeable?"

"Yes," Miles said. "And once the battle is over, you will leave Jehanna to me, as promised."

"Of course, Your Highness."

###

To Gerik, there was nothing worse than a futile battle. However, as a mercenary, he had trained himself too well—never on the battlefield could he simply lay down and die. Perhaps Harford would accept his surrender, but that meant only one thing: he would be handed over to Miles. If Joshua was truly dead, then he was no longer valuable as a hostage. Rather than risk another insurrection, Miles would almost certainly have him killed.

It didn't matter, then, who or what he fought for. He had to fight his way out of here and survive. He had to get back to Tethys. Perhaps Jehanna was lost, but he did not have to lose himself with it.

So he swung hard at Harford. He parried a thrust, then swung again. Harder. Faster. Harder _still_. Harford was a fine fighter, but compared to Gerik, he was a boy. The longer Gerik held off his strikes, the more unsure Harford became. At a time like this, it helped to be a renowned fighter—to be a legend, even. He was a man who fought with the land's greatest heroes to save Magvel from the Demon King. Gerik knew the kind of doubts that would begin to creep into Harford's mind; he was all too familiar with them.

_He's better. I can't win. I'm going to die. _

Harford shouted—almost ripping his throat, from the sound of it—and thrust out his lance in a wide, sloppy attack. Gerik ducked and brought up his sword with a powerful heave. The blade scraped against Harford's breastplate and cut his chin. The impact stunned Harford. Gerik knocked the lance from his hand, then kicked him onto his back. When Gerik lowered his sword and held the tip at Harford's throat, the captain of the guard was too tired—or too scared—to move. Around them, Gerik's group was mopping up the rest of Miles's men. When they were cut down to the last, Gerik straightened up and sheathed his sword.

"What are you doing?" Harford asked. He still hadn't moved.

"Letting you live," Gerik said. "Like another man once let me."

Gerik turned to leave the throne room, but made it only a few steps.

A new wave of men began to flood into the room. Ten. Twenty. More than thirty, and Miles appeared with them, joined by a thin man with blond hair. Gerik considered drawing his blade again—to threaten Harford and maybe use him as a hostage—but there were archers among the new group, and he would have three quarrels sticking out of his chest before his sword left its scabbard. Now there was truly no option but surrender.

"Seize them," Miles said.

As the men obeyed, Gerik realized that the vast majority of them were neither guards nor mercenaries that he recognized. They looked like brigands, in fact, and suddenly it all made sense. Miles had been in cahoots with the League of Thieves all along. He used the threat of the bandit uprising to bait Joshua and his army away from the hall. While Joshua was out fighting the brigands, then, seizing Jehanna Hall became a simple task. Joshua and his army would then return, weakened from battle, to find their stronghold taken. It was a simple yet devastating plan, and as far as Gerik knew, it had been implemented perfectly.

###

Commander Gerik had brought eight men with him to the throne room, and five still lived. Miles lined them up with their hands behind their heads and their faces toward the wall. To one side, Harford stood with Miles's mercenary escort and five or six palace guards. Silvanious had brought twenty of his own men, and they loomed behind them.

"Commander Gerik," Miles said. "You, along with these men, have committed treason against the crown."

"Have I?" Gerik said. "That is news to me."

"I have questions for you," Miles said. "Just one or two. If you refuse to answer, I will torture and kill these men one by one."

"Fine," Gerik said. "I'll answer. But I've got something to ask you, first: who are all these friends you brought along? Harford, you know any of these ugly guys? Just wondering, because I don't recognize any of them from the mercenary—"

"Silence!" Miles shouted.

Harford cleared his throat. "Sir—"

"Harford," Miles said. "To the Gods you pray to, I hope that you will not ask me any question that could be considered treasonous. I will line you up right alongside these men."

Harford looked pale.

"They're brigands," Gerik said. "League of Thieves."

"Shut him up!" Miles shouted.

Two of Miles's mercenaries moved toward Gerik, but Harford stepped in their way.

"I would hear what this man has to say," he said.

"So it is treason," Miles said. He glanced at Silvanious. The man had shown no reaction to Gerik's declaration. He was merely watching Harford, his face unreadable.

Harford looked even paler. "Sir, I would only ask that—"

"Kill him," Miles said.

He could never have expected the pandemonium that followed. Harford raised his lance and impaled his first attacker while the rest of the palace guards drew their weapons and ran to defend him. Miles's mercenaries moved to join the fray, but they were being cut down from behind. It was the brigands, and Miles stood in horror. Silvanious had said nothing, but they had all moved, and Miles's entire escort was slain in seconds: necks snapped, throats cut, backs stabbed in and out through the chest…

Miles turned to run, but one of Silvanious's men had already reached him. He was an enormous man with fat lips and only three teeth. He seized Miles's arm and twisted it. Miles screamed, and the brigand kicked out his feet and slammed him chest first onto the floor. The hard surface knocked his skull, and when he was lifted up, his vision was muddled. Silvanious's men had moved on to the palace guards, butchering them, but Miles couldn't see Commander Gerik anywhere.

Soon, Harford was the last guard standing. He took an arrow to the side, then a blunt axe to the neck. He dropped his lance, blood oozing out from under his armor, and his body began to sway. When Harford fell, Miles thought he could feel the man's gaze. Miles thought, too, that Harford's arm had stretched out, as if it were reaching toward him. But no, it wasn't Harford's face anymore—it became Carlyle's, then his father's, then Queen Ismaire's…

Miles closed his eyes and saw the empty throne.

"Open your eyes, Your Highness."

He did. Silvanious stood in front of him.

"You must face death like a king."

_Impossible_, Miles thought. The word was on his lips when the traitor's blade slid into his heart.


	19. Survival

Joshua had his entire army mustered outside the caves where the League of Thieves had made their hideout. It was dawn; the sky was clear and the air was chilly. Marisa stood at Joshua's side, her face a hard mask of focus. It had not been Joshua's plan to mass his forces this way. Despite the previous night's failed attack, Joshua didn't think for a second that they had dispatched the entire League of Thieves. Silvanious was still unaccounted for, and of course the numbers didn't add up—though it had been Miles who'd given Joshua those details, so who knew how accurate they were.

What Joshua did not believe was that the League of Thieves had stayed to make their last stand holed up in their hideout. They had to be far outnumbered now, and it made much more sense for them to flee. Likely they took everything of value with them, as well, so looting the hideout would ultimately be pointless. It didn't hurt to be thorough, though, and Joshua had heeded Mostak's advice and orchestrated this charade. By way of compromise, if the troops found nothing in the caves, then it was understood that they would immediately begin the long march back to Jehanna Hall.

So far, there was no sign that the League of Thieves still occupied their hideout. Joshua had expected this, but he still wasn't sure what would be the best way to tackle the caves. While the army waited, Princess L'Arachel approached Joshua on horseback.

"You're quite sure you do not need our assistance in this?" she asked.

"I'd rather not ask for it," Joshua said.

"My dear Rennac must know these tunnels better than any of your men, having explored them himself" L'Arachel said. "He is also quite adept at finding things."

"I have sincerely appreciated your help, Princess," Joshua said, "but Jehanna is fighting Jehanna here, and if you were to get hurt, there would be political ramifications—that goes for your men, too. As I've said, I'd be happy to provide a small escort to see you to the border."

L'Arachel sighed dramatically. "I see you will not budge on that point. Very well, King Joshua. I will stay on the outskirts and tend to the wounded. Would you grant me that permission, at least?"

"Of course," Joshua said. "Thank you."

L'Arachel nodded serenely, then rode away.

Joshua looked at Marisa. "Do you think that was wise? We could probably use Rennac prowling around in there."

Marisa only shrugged, but at the same time, Commander Mostak appeared. He had likely been waiting for L'Arachel to leave before speaking to Joshua.

"Your Highness," Mostak said. "At this rate, the men will start getting impatient."

"Yes, they will," Joshua said. "Pick some of your better men and divide them into groups of twenty. We'll send a group into each of the entrances and see what happens. After fifteen minutes, we'll send more groups. The rest will wait closer to the tunnels in case the men inside need backup."

"Yes, Your Highness. I'll see that it's done."

Once Mostak was gone, Joshua folded his arms. "Any opinion on that decision?"

This time, Marisa didn't bother to shrug.

Joshua began to relax as the first wave of men entered the caves. There were, apparently, five unique entrances, but who knew how deep the tunnels really went. The first fifteen minutes passed, and when there was no sign of the first wave, the second followed. Another ten minutes passed before Joshua heard something faint—a sound that seemed to echo out from the caves. It was a rumbling, and as the sound swelled, the entire canyon seemed to shake.

An earthquake? No. A cold fear shot through Joshua, and he bellowed out to his army.

"Back!" he shouted. "Get back!"

Mostak heard Joshua and began yelling the same order. The army surged back from the cliff face in a great wave, stopping only when they were well clear. One by one, each of the cave entrances began to collapse, while chunks of rock dislodged en masse and tumbled violently down into the canyon, kicking up thick clouds of dust and leaving crushed debris in their wake. The rockslide did not reach the army, but the damage was immense. In only a few minutes, though, it all had settled, and the air cleared as the dust drifted off.

Joshua cursed himself. In one fell swoop, the League of Thieves had buried two hundred of his men. It seemed none of the bastards had even stayed to witness the carnage.

###

Gerik had gotten lucky, in a sense. The League of Thieves had picked a good time to betray Miles, but the move had also created the chaos Gerik needed to screen his escape. The bedlam had spread across the palace, as brigands now roamed amongst what remained of Miles's guards and the prisoners Gerik had freed in revolt. It was the brigands who were doing most of the killing, now, and they seemed to be slaying anyone they came across. This would have included Gerik, but he proved to be more than match for them, even in a tired and weakened state.

Gerik knew only one way out of Jehanna Hall, and it was almost assured that the brigands would be waiting for him there. Sure enough, there were two of them between him and the gate. The unexpected part was that they were already dead. One had his throat slit, and the other had several messy stab wounds. A guard sat against the wall, next to the two corpses. He held a knife wound wrapped in cloth torn in strips to function as a makeshift bandage. He seemed a little delirious as he glanced up at Gerik.

"Are you…?"

"Commander Gerik," Gerik said.

The guard hissed out a breath of relief. "I think these two were waiting for you," he said. Then he chucked. "The second one wouldn't go down! His eyes were all red and puffy, and he was growling like a beast! Ha… ha ha…"

Gerik shook his head. "Good work. But you need to get that wound treated."

The guard laughed again. "Where? These brutes will be crawling around every corner of Jehanna Hall. The King is dead. Everything is lost."

"How are you sure King Joshua is dead?"

"Sir Miles had his body," the guard said. "That's… what I was told."

If Miles did have the body, and people had seen it, then there was no denying the truth. It made sense, in a way. The League of Thieves had succeeded in killing Joshua and had his body shipped to Miles before returning to Jehanna Hall to take it over. Was that the extent of their plans? What if, when they appeared at the palace, Sir Miles had refused to the let them in? Would they have stormed the place? It would have been lightly defended, yes, but at least it would have been a fight. Instead, Sir Miles had doomed Jehanna Hall as his last act of greedy idiocy…

"I'm leaving this place," Gerik said. "You should come with me."

The guard shook his head, then grimaced and held his wound. "There are more of them outside…"

"I can get past them."

"I'm staying," said the guard. "This is my post. I will die here."

He sounded certain, so there was no point in arguing.

"The gate is down," the guard said. "Go on."

"I will," Gerik said. "Thanks."

###

The corpse lay on a crescent-shaped desk set in front of a wide window that looked out toward a vast stretch of desert, now covered in shadow. This was the king's study, and the complete history of Jehanna—along with all of Magvel—lay here, bound in tomes or rolled tightly into scrolls that could run longer than the length of the room. And the histories only scratched the surface. There was also the census, and records of taxes and trade that went on for centuries…

It was lucky this room had never gone up in flame, as most of Jehanna Hall had during the War of the Stones. The thought made Silvanious smile. He could destroy these documents and the entire room, if he wanted, but that would be petty. He didn't hate Jehanna. He had been born under its sun, and he had been surrounded by its rugged sands for most of his life. It was his home. This land raised the toughest men in the world, and it spurned the weak with an even hand.

With the corpse on the desk, there was nowhere in the room to sit. Whether it was a real corpse or not, it still smelled like a dead body, and it did not make the study a pleasant place to wait. Fortunately, his friend did not often make him wait. Silvanious heard a soft knock only a few minutes later, and he opened the door.

Warc was a shaman, and he dressed the part. He kept his dark hair short, donned a hood, and wore robes of a deep purple. His face was plain and his complexion lightly pale. Apart from his garb, there was no feature that set Warc apart from an ordinary man. As soon as he entered the room, Warc approached the corpse before even acknowledging Silvanious.

"I trust my work has proven to be satisfactory," Warc said.

"Yes," Silvanious said. "It has."

"Good. And you're no longer in need of it?"

"That's correct."

Warc smiled and glanced at Silvanious. "That may not be as true as you think."

Silvanious managed to look only mildly annoyed. "You mean to suggest that I will have trouble with the wayward king?"

"Despite the losses, his forces remain strong. He will choose to storm this place."

"I know," said Silvanious. His voice lightened. "The cost for your service is rather steep, however. I'm afraid that, after what you took, there's nothing left here for me to pay you with. Aside from some intriguing local plunder, perhaps?"

"Not so intriguing. So much damage from the war. And even more, still."

"Such is my lot."

"So you say," Warc said. He had not moved from the corpse.

"Do away with it, then."

Warc raised his arms and began to chant in a whisper. The corpse started to shrivel, then melt—first the skin, then the muscle, the bone, and the rest. As what remained spilled onto the floor, it gave a small hiss and rose into the air as a dark steam before disappearing. Soon enough, all traces of the corpse had vanished.

"So darkly gifted," Silvanious said.

"That is kind of you to say," said Warc.

"Will you return to Grado?"

Warc turned toward the door. "I doubt that very much concerns you."

"And I suppose you won't stay for a drink?"

Warc chuckled. "You seem in good enough humor. I will leave you."

"Very well."

Warc shuffled across the room and left the way he came. Slvanious did not watch him depart. His eyes did not leave the window and the dark desert beyond it.

###

Shovel in hand, Joshua lead the rescue operation himself, but after one full day, there had been little success. The tunnels ran deep, and though the army had plenty of manpower, most of the men they found were already dead—they had either been crushed initially by the cave-in, or they had suffocated; Joshua thought, grimly, that he would have vastly preferred the first fate. Still, they found twelve live men and many more than half of the bodies. An hour or two after nightfall, Joshua decided—with a heavy heart—to abandon the search. He, along with Marisa, met with Mostak in his tent.

Once inside, Mostak lowered his head.

"Your Highness," he said, "I should apologize again. For my suggestion, perhaps I no longer deserve—"

Joshua cut him off. "I'm the one in charge of this army. It was my decision. You're a good commander, and I definitely do not have the time of wits to replace you right now. I want you here because I still value your advice."

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you."

"All right, good." Joshua sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "So, Commander. Given the situation, what should we be doing next?"

Mostak licked his lips, then frowned. "I would order a march on Jehanna Hall."

"Though there are still twenty-nine men unaccounted for," Joshua said.

"Those men were mercenaries," Mostak said. "Prepared to die. Prepared for anything. The sun was still high in the sky when the last man we found under that rubble still breathed. I think we've spent enough time here."

"There's no doubt we're returning to Jehanna Hall," Joshua said. "I'm going take it back from that traitor, but I'm not sure that another day's delay will matter."

"I may disagree," Mostak said. "Have you considered, King Joshua, that your former advisor could be working with the League of Thieves?"

Joshua straightened his posture. "What makes you think that's true?"

"The timing of all that's happened is very convenient for him. It could be coincidence, but I think we should prepare for the possibility."

"Jehanna Hall is still vulnerable to attack," Marisa said. "Either way."

Mostak nodded. "She's right. We can't keep our forces massed here for longer than necessary."

Joshua glanced at the ground before looking toward Mostak. "And I take it you would be against dividing the army."

"Yes, I would."

"I agree," Joshua said, after a short pause. "I want all of the men ready to march before the sun rises tomorrow. We're going home."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Once Mostak left, Joshua slouched down in his chair and exhaled. Marisa glanced at him.

"I'm tired," Joshua said. When Marisa didn't reply, he went on. "While I was moving stone—chunk after chunk—I had plenty of time to think. I gave an order today, and almost two hundred men died. That was the responsibility I wanted to run away from when I was a kid. It still scares me now. People die so that I can sit on a throne, because I was born to be the true king of Jehanna." He paused again. "If that's all there was to it, then I would still be hiding in a tavern somewhere, wagering gold and chasing women. I keep fighting because there are good things I can do for this kingdom. I can lead her."

Marisa regarded him with a straight face and still said nothing.

"My mother was a kind woman," Joshua said. His gaze drifted, past Marisa and toward nowhere in particular. "She was kinder than anyone I knew. But she learned the sword, Marisa. She knew how to kill, and she didn't hesitate to do it. She was good." He shook his head. "When I learned, I practiced hard because I wanted to be a famous swordsman. I wanted to go on adventures that would be the envy of every mercenary alive. I wanted to gamble my life in duels with the best and the strongest. That kind of thrill became the only thing I sought. I wasn't kind like my mother. I was selfish. She learned to fight because it was something she could do for Jehanna. She knew she'd be able to defend it when the time came. So the time did come, and despite all the tricks I learned, and the skills I polished, and the techniques I perfected, I couldn't help—because I wasn't there." Joshua allowed himself a grim smile, then looked back at Marisa. "It's my biggest regret, and there is no close second."

Silence lingered for a moment before Marisa spoke. "I learned to survive. For me, that was all."

"That is all," Joshua said. "And not just for you."


End file.
